


Apparently Sex Pollen Is A Thing or Hunters Are Dicks With Too Much Time On Their Hands

by ladyoneill



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Beating, Claiming, Come Eating, Discipline, Dubious Consent, First Time, M/M, Mating, Non-Graphic Violence, Oral Sex, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2013-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-13 12:55:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyoneill/pseuds/ladyoneill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Alpha Pack's been defeated, junior year has started, and Stiles, accompanied by a formerly dead ex-Alpha, finds himself chased through the woods by Hunters.  When they're caught, they're shot with arrows laced with sex pollen, and before the night ends Stiles is no longer a virgin and is mated unwillingly to a wolf over twice his age.  Can they make their new relationship work or is it all just going to be horror and really great sex?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apparently Sex Pollen Is A Thing or Hunters Are Dicks With Too Much Time On Their Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2013 Perverse Big Bang, which had a minimum of 5000 words. Check the word count. *sigh* The non-con is from sex-pollen, the dub-con is on Stiles' end due to the forced mating and Peter not giving him much choice in having sex after the initial rape, the beating is with a belt for discipline. Stiles is nearly 17, which is underage in California. Forced mating and sex pollen seem to be tropes I'm addicted to for this pairing. I expected to write 5000 words of smut and ended up with 28000 words of, well, smut, but also a hell of a lot of angst, dialogue and plot. Includes my own fanon about mating, claiming bites, and Peter having a previous mate and cub. 
> 
> The whole pack is in the fic but mostly in minor roles. Canon pairings plus Erica/Boyd as well, but not the emphasis of the story by a longshot, so not listed above.

Why did this crap always happen to him? The weak and clumsy human? Why was he the one running through the forest with Peter "zombie wolf" Hale, being chased by half a dozen hunters who didn't seem to care that he was the token human? All this hassle just because he wanted to collect a certain herb under the waning crescent moon, and Derek didn't trust him in the woods alone and wouldn't go with him and everyone else had lives except for Peter who just lived to snark and dispense wisdom at just the right time.

Stiles stumbled over a root for the sixth, seventh? time and Peter grabbed his arm, held him upright and kept him running.

At least he wasn't leaving him to his sure to be gruesome fate.

Shaking free, Stiles used what had to be his last burst of adrenaline to power past the wolf and leap a narrow creek. 

And then something hit him high on the back of his left shoulder and he stumbled at the burst of pain. At first he thought it was Peter and a claw, pushing him on, but Peter was next to him, hands human, and looking shocked in the light of the moon, and the pain was only growing.

"He's human," Peter growled in fury, moving behind Stiles, arms spread, and Stiles tried to keep moving, but he was falling to one knee, panting harshly and the pain... "Your code!"

What? 

Reaching back with his shaking right hand, Stiles felt for whatever had hit him and his fingers brushed something wooden and round and...oh fuck.

Arrow.

They'd shot an arrow into him! 

His other knee collapsed to the ground and he moaned in pain and fear as, from behind them, a dark, nasty voice bit out, "He's a traitor to humans. All he deserves is what you're going to get, wolf."

No. No, he couldn't die like this. Taking deep breaths, Stiles forced himself back to his feet. His shoulder throbbed in agony that nearly blinded him, but before he could take another step, two Hunters came out of the thick brush in front of him, one holding a crossbow, the other a hunting rifle. From behind him, Peter started growling, one, low, threatening sound, and there were footsteps back there, too.

They were surrounded and Stiles knew they were at least five miles from the Hale House and any possible help and a good ten miles from the nearest public road. They'd been herded away from town, deep into the Preserve.

Trapped.

"Don't even think to howl for your pack. They won't get here in time anyway." At the first sight of the Hunters, Peter had told Stiles he couldn't howl, it would only draw them to them and take away any chance they had to escape.

But, they'd still been caught.

"My...my dad's the Sheriff," was the only protest he could think to make, and the two men in front of him laughed.

"We don't care. Even if we let you go, which we won't, you won't tell him anything about this," the leader said. The sound of another arrow flying broke the momentary silence, and Peter grunted.

Wait. What?

Stiles tried to turn but his head swam dizzily and he reached out for the nearest tree, slumping against it, as Peter swore. He could see the wolf now, eyes glowing blue, fangs and claws out, and there was an arrow in his side that he was breaking off and pushing out his back.

And, Jesus, that had to hurt.

For the first time, Stiles was glad he hadn't discarded his heavy jacket while running. The arrow hadn't gone very deep into his shoulder, but it burned and he felt sweat beading on his forehead.

"What is this?" Peter growled, taking a step towards the leader of the Hunters, only to stumble and grab his side.

Stiles really didn't like the grin on the leader's face, or the laughter from the others, who had been joined by half a dozen more Hunters until they were surrounded.

"Something of my own design. I've been hoping to find a wolf and a human together to try it out. I can see you're both feeling the effects already. It's different for humans and werewolves. Sorry, kid, well, not at all actually, but you should just get a bit dopey, maybe feel a bit good and little pain, but that won't last very long. By the time the dog's ready, you'll be feeling everything again. I hope you scream."

"Would have preferred a girl," a particularly ugly and scarred man croaked out. "But that one's skinny enough."

What?

Stiles' mind was slowing down, growing hazy, and he opened his mouth to try to ask what the Hell was going on, but all that came out was a moan.

And not one only of pain.

His shoulder throbbed still, but he was getting warm and his mouth was dry. He licked his lips and his eyes wandered to Peter's face.

Why did he look so horrified?

Oh, right, eminent death, but...The pain was starting to fade and he was starting to feel almost good. Adrenaline? Endorphin? 

"I won't do this," Peter ground out, his face sliding back to human as his whole body started to tremble.

"You don't have a choice. You or we all take a turn on the kid."

What?

He managed to choke that out and, then his eyes followed the toss by one of the Hunters of a tube of something that landed between he and Peter.

"You can use that. We're not animals, after all."

"You're perverted, fucking..." A fist across his mouth stopped Peter's bitter words and he spun to the ground.

"Get on with it, wolf boy. I want to see if this works on you."

Peter spat blood and turned furious eyes to the leader. "Why? What is the point of this?"

"I'm a curious guy. And, frankly, the fact that the fucking Argents actually protect your degenerate pack, irritates the fuck out of me. If I can't get to your Alpha or his Second, I'll take what pleasure I can get by wiping you and the human traitor off the face of the Earth in the most enjoyable way possible."

"Then just kill us!"

Hey, no. No to death. Was he babbling?

"Stiles, quiet."

Yep.

Oh geez, he was so dizzy now and so warm, and he tried to yank off his jacket, but it pulled on the arrow and he screamed in pain. Peter was at his side, breaking off the shaft, helping him out of the jacket and his over shirt, and Stiles turned watery eyes to him.

And then the older man's fingers touched the skin of his neck and pleasure burst within him. Their eyes met over Stiles' shoulder and Stiles felt lost in them. Peter's were dark, his pupils dilated, and he was panting. Unsteady, Stiles reached out, found Peter's thigh and it was so hot through his jeans, and he squeezed, and Peter groaned.

"Stiles...forgive me..."

"Huh?" he mumbled, head falling forward, suddenly too heavy to hold up, and his eyes were now on Peter's crotch and... "Oh."

Oh, shit. A burst of clarity and he realized what this was, what was going to happen, and no, not this way, not with Peter, not with an audience, not in the middle of the forest, surrounded by Hunters.

Not Peter!

But, Stiles was helpless to resist as the wolf pushed him down on his stomach and pulled his pants and boxers to his knees. The late night was cool and the breeze across his naked ass made him shiver, but he was still so hot.

Not aroused, though. He was still aware enough that he recognized that, but Peter was.

And big.

A belt clanked, a zipper sounded, and then there were slick flesh on flesh sounds, and Stiles whimpered and tried to squirm away, but the wolf was on him, straddling his legs, one hand at his neck holding him still. His one arm was useless anyway, the pain was returning, and he knew he was trapped.

Around them he could hear the Hunters talking, laughing, making bets of all things, and he tried to tune them out, but then all he could hear was his own stuttered panting, and the low growls and sex sounds from Peter and that terrified him, even through whatever fucking drug he was on. The leader was right--the dopey warmth and even pleasure were fading and his mind was clearing

A couple of the assholes bet that he'd scream.

He wouldn't scream. He wouldn't, wouldn't...

A slick finger shoved into his hole and he bit his lip because, God, he wanted to scream. It hurt, burned. Peter wasn't being gentle, and, oh God, please no claws.

He scrabbled at the dirt, trying again to get away, to somehow stop this, but Peter's hand went back to his neck, shoving his face down hard and he tasted leaves and bugs and loam.

"Stay," the wolf growled, and it _was_ the wolf. Somehow the fingers--and there were two now--inside him were human, but when the hand left his neck, Stiles felt the sting from the claws that had scraped him, and as he turned his head, gasping for air, he saw the fangs and the eyes and the hair.

And Peter's long, thick cock, slick with lube.

Stiles whimpered, but stopped trying to squirm away. Stopping Peter wasn't in the cards, and if he fought him...

This was going to hurt and suck regardless.

Stiles silently cursed the Hunters and wished the drugged haze would come back. He didn't want to feel any of this.

When Peter grabbed him around the waist, he let himself be pulled up. He used his good hand to brace himself, and his whole arm--his whole body--quivered in fear and anticipation. A third finger was shoving in and out of him with the other two, and he could feel his ass clenching in resistance, but Peter was determined to spread him open.

"Get on with it," the leader barked, his voice harsher, deeper, and fuck, were these asshats getting turned on?

Forcing his head up, Stiles blinked blearily at the men in front of him and, one of them was jacking his dick. Tears pricked his eyes and he let his head fall again. It was heavy, it ached, and he was almost glad because he really didn't want to see that.

Claws dug into his hips and Stiles yelped and then bit the inside of his cheek as something much bigger than three fingers shoved into his aching, stinging hole. Tasting blood, tears spilling down his cheeks, he whimpered uncontrollably and prayed for unconsciousness, because he did not want to be here. The pain as Peter drove all they way into him brought complete clarity and he could hear the men around him, the sex sounds and crude comments and exchange of money. His shoulder was going numb, the pain in his ass was ramping up with each harder and harder thrust of Peter's dick, his knees ached and the inside of his cheek stung. He was crying now, snot choking him, and everything was horrible.

Trying to focus on Peter, he couldn't help but flinch at the stream of grunts and 'fucks' coming from him as he slapped his pelvis against Stiles' raised hips and pounded his cock into him faster and faster. The claws were still in him, but that pain was negligible in comparison. Craning his neck, he blinked away tears to see that Peter was still wolfed out, his face twisted in a grimace of pain and pleasure, flushed and excited. Sliding his eyes down, he caught a glimpse of his dick as it pulled out and, shit, there was dots of blood on the glistening, red shaft. At the realization that he was bleeding, Stiles felt the dizziness return, and let his forehead sink to the forest floor.

The angle change caused Peter to growl loudly in what sounded like pleasure, and his hips stuttered, then started pounding even faster. To keep from screaming Stiles bit into his lower lip, because it burned so much, felt so raw. He'd torn.

Without his permission, babbling spewed from him. "Please" and "Stop" and "Oh God" over and over and in various combinations, and Peter ignored him, just leaned forward and wrapped one clawed hand around the nape of his neck and shoved his face down again.

Stiles cried into the dirt and, propped on his good shoulder now, flailed that hand back in a desperate attempt to...he didn't know what.

Peter caught his hand and pulled it up painfully behind his back. With a loud growl, he slammed his hips forward one more time and Stiles thought maybe he was finally coming, but that thought fled at the sudden pain of fangs puncturing the skin and scraping off the bone of his thin wrist.

Stiles screeched into the dirt and bucked his hips and tried to get away, but he was pinned by the wolf's heavy, heaving body and the dick still in his ass, the claws in his hip and the fangs...

He couldn't turn him. He was a Beta. Why?

"Why?" he sobbed and when Peter released his arm, Stiles jerked his wrist free. Raw pain nearly blinded him, and he cradled the wounded hand to his chest and collapsed onto the dirt.

"Well, well, look what we got as a bonus, boys. Think we should take these two prisoner after all? Watch the boy just break to little pieces when he figures it out?"

"I think you're all going to die," came a deep, growling voice from somewhere on Stiles' right, and as the men started to yell and howls filled the air, Stiles recognized that voice and he cried in relief and tried to curl into a ball. He didn't even care that he was still joined to Peter and he'd been sex pollened and raped, because he wasn't going to die.

But, he couldn't curl up because Peter _was_ still on him and in him, and the wolf was growling a low rumble that something in Stiles realized was supposed to be soothing.

Gunshots sounded from all directions and Peter blanketed him completely, protecting him, even though Stiles could barely breathe. Somewhere in the process his dick pulled free, leaving Stiles with throbbing pain, leaking he didn't want to know what, and feeling weirdly empty.

The leader yelling "Traitor" was cut off by a gunshot and then there was silence except for panting and growling and the cocking of a gun.

"I can end him, Hale."

That was Chris Argent. Which Hale? End who?

Peter was shaking on top of him and Stiles felt the urge to comfort him and...

"No," he managed to squeak out. Chris meant to kill Peter! "Not his fault. Sex pollen."

"What the Hell does that mean?" Derek growled and Peter was shoved off of him. Stiles blinked dazedly up at the angry Alpha, who just grew more furious and flashed deeply crimson eyes at both Stiles and his uncle. "He raped you," he bit out. "I'll kill him myself!"

"No, no, we were shot with arrows laced with something," Stiles babbled, stumbling over the words, while trying to move his exhausted body to shield Peter and not understanding why.

"Sex pollen is real?" Scott yelped. "Oh fuck, you're naked."

Stiles really wish he had the energy to roll his eyes or throw something at his best friend's head, but Derek was still growling and threatening, even while trying to pull up Stiles' jeans. Stiles batted at him futilely, until Peter's fingers wrapped around Stiles' right arm, gently lifting it into his nephew's line of sight, and everything stopped.

Falling back, Derek barked to the Pack to dispose of the bodies, then gave reluctant thanks to Argent and Allison, while ignoring Chris' low spoken, harsh comments about Peter and something about underage and...

Stiles tuned him out and, with Peter's help, rose shakily to his knees and let himself be redressed. When his pants were buttoned, he swallowed hard and glanced over his shoulder to see Peter's head down, his arms still around him in support. At some point, he'd refastened his jeans, but his belt remained undone, and there was...stuff smeared along the hem of his t-shirt. Lube and blood and...

Swallowing hard again, Stiles let Peter help him up and, because he was pretty sure he'd collapse completely without him, stayed in his arms. Heavy head lolling on the older man's shoulder, he whispered in his ear, "Is it over?"

"Enough of the toxin's out of my system," Peter murmured. "I'm myself again. They were right. It...didn't affect you in the same way." Was that mournful? Why did Peter sound like that? "We need to get that arrowhead out of you and...your other injuries tended," he added softly, his voice still weird sounding.

"I hurt everywhere." And he was dopey feeling again, but then he realized that the whole left side of his shirt was soaked in blood and he could feel himself bleeding from claw marks and the bite and...yeah, there.

Suddenly Mr. Argent was in front of them, something weird and pained on his face. "My SUV is a mile that way." He jerked his head to the right. "He needs to go to the hospital."

"And how do we explain that, Christopher?" 

Stiles rolled bleary eyes at Peter who was staring down Mr. Argent. He must have won because the Hunter sighed heavily and conceded, "All right, Deaton's. Come on."

"I'm going to pick you up," the wolf holding him up more and more murmured in his ear and then he was off the ground and new pain lashed through him and that was it.

He was gone.

*****

Stiles woke slowly, feeling groggy and out-of-sorts, and as he blinked open his eyes, he wondered where the Hell he was, before he started recognizing things in the dimly lit room.

Oh, look, there was the bone saw...

The pain hit and he winced. He thought about rolling from his right side to his back, but as he shifted slightly, the pain lanced up his spine and he remembered. Nausea flooded him and he clapped his right hand over his mouth, but he wasn't going to be able to stop it.

A gentle hand was on his head and a basin was under his mouth just in time as he vomited helplessly, his stomach clenching which made everything else clench and hurt and everything he'd eaten for what had to be forever came up. Someone was talking to him soothingly--the same person who was holding the basin and stroking his head obviously--but he couldn't make out any words as he retched until he was finally empty. Shaking from head to foot, he fell back onto his side, exhausted.

His left shoulder throbbed, but there didn't seem to be a corresponding wound on the front to the impact spot on his shoulder blade, so they hadn't pushed the arrow through like Peter...

Peter.

The basin was taken away and a glass of water with a straw, along with a clean basin, replaced it. 

"Take a sip, rinse your mouth."

And, that was Peter.

Stiles obeyed, spitting a couple times into the basin before letting a bit of the soothing water down his sore throat. There was a pillow under his head and he relaxed back onto it, glad that enough wolves had spent time in the Vet's office that Deaton now had a mattress, pillow and blanket for the exam table that didn't reek too badly of dog.

Just werewolf, but Stiles was used to that smell.

The sound of metal scraping on the concrete floor made him open his eyes to see Peter dragging a stool over towards him to perch on.

"How long was I out?" he asked hoarsely.

"About three hours. Alan removed the arrow head and sewed up the wound. You'll have a small scar. He...put a couple other stitches in..." Peter dropped his eyes.

Carefully using his left hand--which was working again, thank God--Stiles lifted the blanket to reveal his Iron Man boxer shorts, which he hadn't been wearing. Someone must have broken into his house, probably Scott because he knew which ones were his current favorite. He was also shirtless and he felt incredibly vulnerable because he realized where the other stitches had to be, and they weren't in the claw marks in his hips, because those hadn't pierced that deeply, and the fang marks...you didn't stitch those, he knew that.

Somehow he knew that. 

There was a bandage there. There were bandages other places, too--he could feel them--but, as long as he didn't move, the throbbing pain in his ass was now a dull ache.

Stiles flushed and let his eyes briefly close.

"You need your rest," Peter began softly, "But we need to talk, Stiles."

"Dude, we were sex pollened. Not your fault. They...they wanted that to happen and then they were going to kill us, so I'm taking our survival as a big win. I can...I mean...I'll be okay."

Peter looked up at him, one eyebrow arched in disbelief, then he reached out with one finger and touched his bandaged wrist.

And Stiles moaned and shuddered as heat flooded him. What the fuck?

"I'm sorry, Stiles. I was out of control and I did something inexcusable."

"Already...already told you it wasn't your fault," Stiles gasped out, jerking his hand away and fighting for control as he continued to tremble.

"The sex pollen, as you call it, was responsible for the rape, but my wolf drove me to bite you." Peter sighed softly and dragged one hand over his face. He looked as tired as Stiles felt, and was still in his soiled clothes, stained with both their blood. "Did you ever ask Derek why I bit Scott and Lydia on their sides and why he bit all his Betas in the same places and yet I wanted to bite your wrist?"

Stiles stared at him for a minute, then dragged his eyes down to his bandaged wrist and felt the punctures throb with his heartbeat which was speeding up as he shook his head.

"My wolf wanted you back then, wanted you when I was resurrected, has always wanted you from the first moment I saw you in the hospital. After you rejected the bite, I fought against offering again. Fought against just taking, because you're too young."

Feeling dread fill him, Stiles swallowed convulsively. "Peter?"

"It's a claiming bite, Stiles. A mating bite, and it can't be undone."

"...What?" No, his mind couldn't parse through that. What the fuck? Mating was real?

"I was out of control. My wolf was at the fore and I couldn't stop it. I...didn't want to stop it."

Stiles' heart felt like it was trying to hammer its way out of his chest and he gaped at Peter who gave him back a sorrowful look.

Mournful.

And he remembered that tone of voice, how sad Peter had sounded.

But, why? Wasn't this what he wanted?

Anger began to stir, driving away the fear and confusion, and Stiles barked, "Get out."

"Stiles..."

"I...No. I can't deal with this right now. I won't deal with it. Get out, Peter. Get _out_ ," he yelled with all the breath in him even as the panic hit and he choked. As he struggled to breath, he saw the concern on Peter's face through tear-filled eyes, and then the door banged open.

Derek replaced his uncle in Stiles' line of sight, taking his flapping hand and squeezing it gently. His other hand touched his forehead and he leaned down, breathing softly. "Breathe, Stiles. Slowly. One. Two. With me," he encouraged over and over until Stiles was able to match his breathing and the panic slipped away.

Then he began to cry and Derek awkwardly stroked his head and neck.

But, at least he didn't spout any useless platitudes like 'everything will be all right' because nothing was ever going to be all right again.

When he stopped crying and blinked sore eyes up at the Alpha, Derek asked him, "Do you want me to stay?"

"I want him to leave," Stiles choked out, his throat aching from crying and vomiting.

"I know, but he can't. Not until you clear the air."

Eyes widening in disbelief, Stiles shook his head. "I don't care what he has to say!"

The hand holding his tightened and a frown formed on Derek's face. Stiles felt himself cower as best he could while reclining on his side and his head turned and...

"What's happening to me?" he whispered in shock because he was baring his throat in submission.

"You're Pack now. I'm your Alpha. It's how I was able to calm you down."

"I'm not a werewolf. God, I'm not a werewolf am I?" Relief flooded him when Derek shook his head, but it quickly vanished at the Alpha's next words.

"No, but you're mated to one. I'm sorry, Stiles. Now, do you want me to stay?"

Yes.

"No."

"I'll be outside in the waiting room. I can feel you now through the pack bond, so if you start to panic again, I'll be right back." He left before Stiles could think of how to respond to all of that. His mind was in overdrive, whirling with too many thoughts, and his heart was still beating too quickly from fear and confusion.

"You did this on purpose," he accused.

"Yes, but that doesn't mean I'm not regretful."

"I don't care."

Peter frowned. "I know you're young, Stiles. As I said, it was the main reason I was hesitant, but you're also not stupid. We need to talk."

"Yeah, I'm young. I'm sixteen, and my dad doesn't know about any of this shit and isn't going to, so I'm not going to live in some wolfy hovel in the forest with you."

"I have an apartment, but, that's neither here nor there, because you're right. Until your father knows the truth, I won't force the issue of living together. It's illegal in California anyway. But," he stressed, "we are together and I won't ignore my wolf's needs because you're being petulant."

"We're not together!"

Peter's frown deepened and his eyes flashed bright and cold blue, causing Stiles to feel an almost instinctive need to submit. Glaring at the older man, he fought it, baring his teeth at him.

The frown turned into a smirk. "I'll let you get away with that for now, Stiles, but there are rules. I do regret that the claiming was so painful and awful for you. For us both," he added firmly. "But, there's no going back, there's no fix to this. Right now my place in the Pack is rather nebulous. Even Scott ranks above me and he isn't even wholly in the Pack. As my human mate, you're lower than I am. Now, that doesn't mean the Betas are going to start ordering you around or anything, but you will feel the pack bond. Being a mated pair is the first step in stabilizing my position and rising in the ranks and you'll go with me. We can pass them all, except, Derek is different. You obey your Alpha."

"Just because he's your Alpha doesn't mean..."

"Yes, it does, and you know this. Stop being stupidly stubborn."

Stiles shut up but glared even harder until he gave himself a headache.

"Where was I," Peter muttered. "Right, rules. My wolf wants to lick your wounds, take away your pain, and then bend you over that table and mount you again."

Stiles felt himself turn bright red, his face actually burn, and looked away nervously.

"Of course I won't do that. I hurt you badly, tore you. You need to heal and I'll give you that time, but I'm a selfish man and, more importantly, a possessive wolf. You're mine and I'm not going to be like Derek would, and just sit back and pine for you. I've had a mate in a loving, fulfilling relationship, and I'll have you in whatever way I can. If you never love me, we'll live with that, but the bond will pull on your emotions and on your body. You'll want to be with me."

"You're crazy," Stiles choked out, wanting to just deny and deny and deny all of this, but...there was something new inside him, something drawing him to Peter.

Ignoring him, Peter continued, a hint of satisfaction on his face. "So, as long as you feel the need to keep all this from your father, I'll go along with it. When I want you, and it's convenient--I'm not that cruel or stupid to drag you out of school or away from a family dinner--you'll be there, and that works in reverse as well." He waved off Stiles' instinctive response to that statement. "But, if you fight the bond, if you deny me, if you, God help you, attempt to be unfaithful, I'll tell your father everything and let the cards fall."

"...You son of a bitch." The damn tears were back, stinging his eyes, and Stiles angrily brushed them away, making his shoulder twinge, but he felt helpless just laying here. He needed to do something.

He wanted to hit the older man so badly.

"You're angry, of course. Understandable. It's not like you have any feelings for me."

"Loathing," Stiles interrupted icily. "Seething hatred."

Peter laughed at that, a dark, nasty sound. "You know I can tell when you're lying." His face softened a bit. "But, you're also very tired, so we'll leave it there. I'll give you...three days? Come to my apartment after school on Tuesday. I'll text you the address." He rose to his feet and headed for the door, then stopped and looked back. "And, Stiles? Be there." A final flash of blue eyes and he was gone.

Stiles felt every emotion in the world welling up inside him and choking him and, then, Derek was there again, holding his hand and urging him to breathe.

When the panic had subsided, he opened his eyes to find the Alpha perched on the stool, looking at him gravely. That "I'm sorry" were the first words out of his mouth made Stiles gape at him and Derek give him that constipated look. "I knew there was something there on Peter's side of things and I shouldn't have let you be alone with him, but you work so well together, and I...I don't want to trust him, but I do believe he would have waited, eased you into it when you were older."

Absorbing that for a moment, Stiles believed the Alpha believed it, and nodded, then changed the subject. "I was kind of out of it. Did you rip those assholes to shreds?"

Derek smirked darkly. "Pretty much, and Argent was pissed. He shot two of them in the head."

"He was going to shoot Peter. He knows what the bite means?" That was embarrassing. At least the other Hunters who had known were all dead, and he did not feel at all badly about that.

"We try to keep our rituals from the Hunters but the Argents have been around for a very long time. They know more than most."

"Did you know Peter offered to bite me on the wrist the night he killed Kate? I just thought he wanted to turn me, but he was going to claim me." He could feel his heart ratcheting up again and tried to breathe calmly.

"No, I didn't know that. Even though we claim a mate with consent these days, I'm surprised that, as psychotic as he was back then, he offered and didn't force it on you. Maybe...he was coming back to himself."

"Yeah, no. Derek you can't trust him."

The dark look Derek shot him made Stiles want to whine. "For your sake, I have to. I kick him out of the Pack, he takes you with him and out of Beacon Hills."

"...Oh."

Slowly the Alpha relaxed, but he still frowned, more in concentration, though, as if remembering. "I heard snatches of your conversation. He's right. Wolves are very possessive. We mate for life and, usually, it's a loving, mutual relationship, but it doesn't have to be. Only a few generations back, even our Pack wolves, if they were attracted to a human, wouldn't ask but would snatch them from their bed and bite them. The old fairy tales exist for a reason, as do Hunters. Today, we try to be more civilized, but, often, what the wolf wants, the wolf gets. Peter's been fighting his instincts. The drug...it took that control away."

"And...there's really no way out? No cure?"

"Death."

"Yeah, not an option. I mean, I'm pissed at him, but I don't...I don't want him dead," he said finally, his voice small.

Derek sighed softly. "You're human, though. You can feel the bond and it'll draw you to him, but it's easier for you to fight it. I don't recommend it. The bond won't stop Peter from hurting you. When he said don't be unfaithful, he meant it. You probably can be, but I remember stories of a distant cousin whose human mate cheated and he tore her lover apart and whipped her in front of the Pack, then kept her pregnant for the next several years."

"Jesus."

"Again, that was a couple generations back, and that Alpha was much more traditional and the story goes he demanded she be punished that way. I would never do that, but Peter has the right..."

"Do I have any?"

"Yeah. One of my great-aunts, a human, wrote a lot of her experiences down. The book mostly survived the fire. I'll have Isaac bring it to school on Monday. You need to get some sleep and tomorrow we'll get you home where you can rest. You're already on some strong painkillers and Deaton's going to give you a sedative tonight. He may keep you on it tomorrow, but hopefully you'll be healed enough to function Monday."

"What about my dad?"

"Scott used your phone and sent him a text that you're spending the night with him. His mom's on the night shift, but she'll back you up if your father checks with her."

"Does she know?"

"Only that you were shot."

"Thanks." He dipped his eyes without thinking about it, but caught a near smile on Derek's face. 

"I am glad you're Pack, Stiles. Six months ago I never would have thought I'd say that." With that rather amazing comment, Derek left the room.

"Huh."

*****

Stiles spent most of the next thirty six hours sleeping and trying very hard not to think about Peter, which was very difficult with the twin reminders of bite marks and aching ass.

Both got better, though, the pains fading to dull annoyances. By Monday morning he could walk pretty normally, if not quickly, and could sit, though he knew the hard chairs at school were not going to be comfortable. No sprawling. He'd have to lean forward and pretend he was actually interested in the lessons. At least he didn't have gym this semester and Lacrosse practice didn't start for two more months.

He was able to remove the bandage from the bite marks and hide them under a leather band which he thought looked cool. His shoulder ached and twinged when he jostled it, but he'd gone down a step in the size of bandages and it was healing well. Deaton had gotten him painkillers and he was taking them only when the pain became too bad to handle. The less said about the source of the antibiotics, the better. If he started purring...

School was the nightmare it always was. The Pack was weird around him, especially Scott, but he really couldn't be bothered with soothing his best friend's qualms. He had enough of his own. Lydia was oddly sympathetic, but he could see the thought she was keeping behind her tongue--she was glad it wasn't her. He couldn't fault her for that.

Isaac brought him the book at lunch and he spent the rest of the day reading it. The woman who wrote it--Sarabeth--was obviously in love with her mate from the start, but she'd written down a lot of helpful hints on dealing with a volatile werewolf mate. Of course, they'd had children to help keep their relationship on an even kilter and Stiles couldn't do that.

Or he better not be able to do that. If Peter knocked him up, he really would kill the wolf.

He sent a quick text to Derek, 'MPREG isnt real, rite.'

Getting no response wasn't a surprise. Derek was the worst at answering texts, emails, phone calls. Stiles wasn't completely sure he knew how to use a smart phone.

Peter did, because at some point a text arrived with an address in a upscale area of town. Stiles' thumb hovered for a long time over the delete button, but then he sighed and hid the text screen. He could pretend it didn't exist that way.

Tuesday afternoon came way too quickly and Stiles' butt was almost healed, just sore, but would that be enough to put off Peter?

"Dude, you're about to hyperventilate in English class," Scott whispered. "Save it for chemistry."

Stiles glared at him, but forced himself to calm down. His best asset was his mouth--oh Jesus, now he was thinking about blow jobs, no, no, no. His best asset was talking. He'd talk his way out of sex.

...

He'd really just thought the unthinkable.

Head desking only gave him a headache.

*****

The apartment was in a small, new complex, well landscaped, private, and, as Peter buzzed him in and he trudged up the stairs to the second floor, Stiles felt like he was going to his death. The wolf was waiting at the door and stepped back to let him into a nice sized, well decorated, yet lived-in living room.

"I'm not going to eat you, Stiles. Stop looking like this is the end of the world."

"No."

Peter rolled his eyes and gestured to a navy leather couch. Sitting carefully, not flopping, down on one end, Stiles was relieved when Peter took a chair across from him. "I can tell you're healing well. How are you feeling?"

"Crappy. Sick. In pain. Probably going to puke."

Outright laughter only made Stiles glare harder. "At least we won't be bored."

Huffing, Stiles sank back into the really comfortable couch that was barely making his ass ache at all--he hated it but he thought he might be able to live his life on this couch. Just the butter softness of the leather... "I can try to be boring."

"Stiles."

"Okay, I'm healing. I'm still sore, but I don't have a fever or anything crappy like that. The sketchy antibiotics are working. I still don't want to have sex with you," he added baldly.

"I'm not planning to have sex with you tonight. Before you start making relieved noises, I am planning to take you to bed and do lots of wicked things to you, but, despite my wolf's wants and the need to set the claim more firmly, I won't fuck you."

Stiles grunted in displeasure, but that feeling inside him, that weird, stretchy feeling, tingled in anticipation. 

"I want you to heal completely so I can show you just how good it can be."

"How do you even know how good it can be? You had a wife, right?"

The predatory smile was wiped from Peter's face, but he nodded. "Yes. Her name was Marta and someday we'll talk about her, but I have been with men, in high school and college. My wolf simply chose a female and I pursued her until her wolf welcomed me."

"So...werewolves, intrinsically bi?"

"Many are, actually, probably more than in the human population because we don't need to propagate the species through birthing cubs. I've always been attracted to both sexes."

Pushing that aside for the moment, because, at least Peter knew what he was doing, Stiles asked something that had been niggling at him, "You talk about your wolf like it's a separate entity. Is it?"

"Not really. When I was...broken, I was more wolf than man. Now the two sides have integrated wholly again, but certain things can bring out either side of me more readily. You bring out the wolf because the wolf wanted you first. The wolf side is the one which claims a mate. That doesn't mean I don't want you or care for you. If you had a wolf you'd understand, though it can be more difficult for bitten werewolves to integrate. You know, Derek will turn you if you want."

"I don't want."

"Hm...You actually don't. Are you afraid of the bond tightening?"

"To be frank, yeah. I don't want to roll over for you every time you look at me funny."

Peter snorted. "We have more free will than that."

"Doesn't feel like it, dude."

"That's because you're new to this and you're scared." Peter rose to his feet. "When do you need to be home?"

"Around six to start dinner."

"That gives us two hours."

Stiles stared up at him, felt a tug inside himself that might be coming from Peter, might be from his own damn body--free will my ass--and clambered to his feet.

"I'm not going to enjoy this, you know," he said sourly which made Peter laugh at him, take his wrist--the bitten one, dammit, which sent more tingles through him, despite the leather band--and lead him to the master bedroom.

Which was incredibly decadent looking in a really expensive way, decorated in burgundy and ivory with dark woods and a freaking gold chandelier over the center of the massive, four poster bed. Stopping next to it, Peter lifted Stiles' wrist and cocked an eyebrow at the leather that hid his bite.

"You know I can't show it."

A flick of his fingers and the snap opened and the band fell into Peter's other hand. "I accept that, but don't wear it here or with the Pack except at school." Setting it on the nightstand, he started to undress.

"Um..."

"Stiles, take off your clothes."

Giving him a sour look, Stiles obeyed, no didn't obey, chose to do it, because there really wasn't a choice, was there. Fuck. He ignored Peter's naked body--Jesus, he was nearly as ripped as his stupid nephew, not overly hairy, compact yet lean--and Stiles felt scrawny and uncoordinated next to him as he yanked off various pieces of clothing and nearly tripped over his feet dealing with his shoes. He left on his boxers, until Peter gave them a pointed look, and then with a put-upon huff, peeled them off and dived beneath the sheet that was conveniently turned back. Peter rounded the bed and climbed in next to him, not beneath the sheet, and, Jesus, he was huge even soft.

"You're going to be massively disappointed," he grumbled and lay back on the pillows like a Victorian virgin.

"I've seen and touched cocks of all shapes and sizes, Stiles. It's what a man does with it that counts."

"Well, I don't know how to do anything with it."

Peter smirked, and Stiles wanted to wipe it off his face with his fist--which gave credence to the free will thing, though he didn't like admitting that because then he was free willingly here in this bed--then shoved the sheet down to the footboard and roamed his eyes down Stiles' quickly blushing body.

"Turn over."

Shit.

But, at least he didn't have to watch Peter that way.

Turning onto his stomach, Stiles crossed his arms under a pillow before smashing his face into it.

"Passing out won't stop me."

"Fuck you."

More chuckling. Jesus, did nothing piss him off? Stiles really didn't mean to be so damn amusing. 

A warm finger brushed over the bandage on one of his hips, and he flinched, then held his breath as the tape was peeled back for a moment. "Scabbing over. How long will these take to heal?"

Turning his head so he could breathe and talk without it being muffled by feather pillows and really expensive cotton pillowcases--Lydia had been schooling him on the importance of Egyptian cotton bedding over his poly blend Star Wars sheets--he muttered, "A couple weeks. Deaton said the stitches in my shoulder could come out in a week or so." The bandage was lightly patted down and then the finger slid into his crack and he bucked at the unexpected touch.

"And here?"

"Shit. Um...by the weekend, and the stitches are the dissolving kind and you...um, you really didn't tear me much."

The finger retreated and Stiles breathed a quick sigh of relief. "Good. Now, back over."

"Not a dog, and I'm happier this way."

"It's a bit hard for me to suck you off when you're flat on your stomach."

As Peter was peering around his shoulder at his face, Stiles turned his head just enough to stare at him in surprise, and that weird softness returned to Peter's eyes. "This isn't one-sided, Stiles."

"Oh. Okay. Um...I'm not...I haven't done that."

"And I'm not going to make you, but I do plan on coming, so think about what is least uncomfortable or unfamiliar to you while..." His hands rolled Stiles onto his back and, his traitorous dick was already starting to swell just at the mention of a blow job. "Ah, youth does have its advantages."

As Peter wrapped one hand around Stiles' cock, he leaned down and kissed him, which was another surprise.

Because they hadn't done that. And Stiles hadn't even thought about doing that.

"So, wham bam thank you Stiles is off the table?" he gasped out when Peter broke the kiss to drag his lips down to the base of Stiles' throat.

"See, never boring."

"I really don't mean to be interesting," he whined.

Just smiling at him, Peter reached over him for a bottle of lube from the drawer, then poured some into his hand before reaching for Stiles' cock again, which was half-hard already. The slick lube made it easier for Peter to pump him faster without irritation, and there'd never been another hand on his dick--doctors didn't count--and it was amazing.

Sixteen, always horny, he repeated silently to himself because it wasn't Peter turning him on, no sirree Bob, and he always wondered who was Bob? And OH MY GOD what was that twisty thing he was doing to the tip?

Hips bucking helplessly, he flailed out, caught Peter's shoulder and hung on. He was erect now and dripping already.

"You're about to come already," Peter murmured in his ear then licked the lobe which sent an unexpected shiver through him. Erogenous zone--good to know. "How fast can you get it up again?"

"Teenager," he gasped out, then groaned and dug his heels into the mattress as his hips thrust up into the air. "Quick. Way quick." Lips were now sucking on his earlobe and another hand was gliding over his clenching stomach, then up to his nipples, and, Jesus, were they supposed to be that sensitive? He'd never bothered with the useless things.

Peter licked at one, then fastened his lips over it and sucked, and Stiles yelled and bucked harder and harder as the hand sped up faster and faster.

With a wordless cry, he came in hard shudders over Peter's hand and his own stomach. As he collapsed limply, he blinked his eyes open to see Peter licking his fingers. At the sight, his unruly dick twitched.

How come it was so much better when a hand other than his own jerked him off?

After pressing a soft kiss to his slack mouth, Peter moved over him, pushing his thighs apart with his knees. Stiles gaped up at him, then flushed at the sight of his long, hard dick. It was slick with pre-cum and now with lube as Peter jacked himself a few times. "Three options, Stiles. Whichever one you choose, I'm going to give you that blow job before you leave. Hand job, blow job, or between your thighs."

He wasn't ready for a blow job and, while he could do the hand job, the last was intriguing enough to make his dick twitch again. "Um, the last one."

Smiling, Peter urged him over onto his knees and lowered him to his right shoulder to keep the weight off the bad one. Unable to keep his curiosity at bay, Stiles crooked his neck to watch Peter pour more lube onto his fingers and then slide them between his thighs. When they brushed his balls, his breath caught in his throat and his dick twitched again. He wondered how much it would hurt to jack himself with his left hand.

"Wait," Peter murmured as he leaned over him and slowly fed his cock into the space between his thighs. "You won't need to touch yourself to get hard."

"Overconfidence is always your downfall," Stiles snarked, then bit back a moan as he felt the head of Peter's cock nudge past his balls to rub the base of his own cock. 

"Hush, and squeeze your legs shut, not too hard," he admonished as Stiles started to squeeze.

Oh. That felt...weirdly good. His inner thighs were slippery and Peter's dick rubbing against them and his balls and then his soft dick was definitely arousing.

Careful of the bandaged wounds, Peter took his hips and started to fuck without actually fucking. Closing his eyes, Stiles rocked forward and back with the motions, and every time Peter pushed against his cock, it hardened a bit more. 

The wolf began to growl, not a dangerous sound, but a pleased one, and Stiles couldn't stop himself from responding with a long groan as he reached erection.

"Good?"

"..Yeah," he panted softly, his hips starting to buck back to meet Peter's thrusts, his cock aching and dripping pre-cum. He didn't want to enjoy this, but, fuck, it felt good, and the movements, the fact another cock was rubbing his, made his asshole clench and it didn't even hurt. He gritted his teeth and arched his back and it all felt so fucking amazing.

After a few more minutes, Peter sped up his thrusts and his fingers tightened, pulling Stiles back to him and making their bodies smack together, bodies now slippery with sweat. Peter was growling again and Stiles was groaning and it felt...right.

Suddenly Peter pulled back, his dick leaving an empty space between Stiles' legs and, despite the older male's comment, he reached back to grab his cock and squeeze, nearly yelling at the burst of pleasure that brought him.

"Look at me, Stiles. I want you to see what you do to me."

The growled command had him craning his neck again and his mouth fell open at the sight of Peter pumping his cock with one hand, the other pinning Stiles in place. Peter's eyes were shining and his fangs were extended as he panted harshly and bucked into his fist. Moaning softly and squeezing and fondling his own cock, Stiles watched as Peter came in thick splashes across his back.

As the werewolf slumped back onto his heels, breathing hard, his hand went to the sticky mess and began to rub it into Stiles' skin.

"Gross, dude," he grumbled, dropping his head back onto the pillow.

Peter smirked, then flipped him onto his back, and, while the movement was preternaturally fast, he was careful not to jar any of Stiles' injuries. His cock bounced hard off his stomach and he grunted and licked suddenly dry lips because he remembered Peter's promise.

"And you said you wouldn't enjoy this." There was a taunt there and Stiles bit back a retort and was rewarded with the older man's hand wrapping around his dick. There was some of his own cum on his fingers and it mingled with Stiles' pre-cum and then those fingers brushed his lips. "Open up."

Stiles glared and snapped his lips shut which only made Peter smirk and brush his sticky fingers along the crease.

"Open," he sang softly, coaxing. "I'm not the one needing to come."

"Bast..." The fingers plugged his mouth and he wrinkled his nose at the weird, salty taste. 

"Never tasted yourself?"

He shook his head and then his traitorous tongue licked Peter's fingers which made the wolf grin and slide them back out. All the while his other hand continued to slide up and down the shaft of Stiles' aching dick.

"I hate you." But there was no heat to it.

"Uh huh." Still grinning, Peter slid down his legs and then bent down and sank his mouth over the head of Stiles' cock.

Oh fuck. If he'd thought a hand was good...Peter's mouth was hot and wet and his tongue was licking even while his lips were sucking and...

Drowning in sensation, Stiles forced his eyes to stay open. He wanted to watch this--a part of him admitting he wanted to learn the technique from someone who obviously knew what he was doing.

Peter looked like he was enjoying it, his mouth moving steadily, his tongue flicking over the tip every time he came back up the shaft. He was making humming noises that sent zaps of lightning straight up Stiles' spine. For a moment, Peter pulled off and lapped his tongue along the slit, spreading the pre-cum around, and Stiles cursed and dug his fingers into the bedding.

"Like that?"

"Guh..." 

Grinning, Peter lifted his cock out of the way and bent down to suck on his balls and, fuck, he'd never thought about someone doing that to him.

Obviously he wasn't watching the right porn!

A hand caught his hip, rolling it up slightly and then that talented tongue was flicking over his hole!

"Shit! Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Oh fuck!"

It should have been embarrassing, dirty, or even painful, but it felt like nothing he'd ever experienced. Why hadn't he been playing with his asshole for years?

Peter licked his way back up to the head of his cock and started sucking again, this time much harder, his fingers kneading Stiles' balls which were tightening with his impending orgasm. In less than a minute, the younger man was arching his hips and cursing and digging his hands into the bedding and coming in Peter's mouth. Before he could do more than sink down gasping, the wolf was over him, kissing him, sharing the cum.

And Stiles swallowed it down as he kissed him back.

A few minutes later they lay apart on the bed. Stiles raised a trembling hand to his mouth, touched his sticky lips, and made a face.

But...it hadn't been horrible and the blow job itself...

He could get used to that.

But, did he really want to?.

When he glanced over, he saw that Peter wasn't even watching him. He had his cell phone in his hand and was swiping the screen. 

"Pack meeting on Thursday evening. The Pack already knows everything, but we'll be formally introduced as a mated pair. Your homework before then is to look into what that means for a pack."

"Homework, really?"

That damn smirk again, which made Stiles reach down and jerk the sheet over his cooling, still trembling body.

"Saturday night, be here by six. I'll make dinner and we'll spend the night together."

Stiles' stomach dropped. "I don't get a say in any of this?"

"No, you don't, not at this juncture. You'll be healed by then and we need to truly consummate the claim. You didn't come that first time and you need to while I'm in you. Putting it off any longer than Saturday...Not a good idea, Stiles. My wolf wants you here in my bed all the time. It doesn't want you to leave tonight. The longer we go without mating again, the more possessive and demanding I'll become."

"Maybe you need to learn some fucking self-control!"

"Did you miss the part where I'm letting you leave and I don't have to?" Peter snapped back, sitting up and looming over Stiles, who immediately scrambled off the bed and scrabbled for his clothes before running for the bathroom.

When he came out a few minutes later, having wiped himself clean of lube, sweat and cum, and dressed, Peter was nowhere in sight.

He wasn't in the apartment at all, and, breathing a sigh of relief, Stiles left. He had dinner to make and chemistry homework and he wasn't going to think about any of this at all, even if his body was doing that so relaxed thing from two really good orgasms.

*****

He showered when he got home. He showered again the next morning before school. And still Scott sniffed him and made a face.

"A plus for subtlety, there, Scott."

"You...um...smell..."

Stiles waved his right wrist, covered again with the leather band, under Scott's nose. "No shit. What did you think, we were going to be the platonic, hand-holding kind of mates?" Lowering his voice, he glowered at his best friend who was turning bright red and backing away from him.

"There's got to be a way to break this."

"You mean, to cure it? Like being a werewolf in the first place? No, to both. Except for death."

"Then we'll kill him again and, we're not sure about whether or not that would have worked for me because Derek stole that chance."

"Jesus, get the fuck over yourself, and it's a fairy tale, and, no we're not killing him," he finished in a whisper only a wolf could hear.

To his credit, Scott looked completely baffled. "But...why? I mean, for you."

"I..." Can't. Something inside him, whatever it was binding him to Peter, screamed at the thought of the older man dead. Shaking his head in frustration, he said, "Get used to the scent because it's not going away." And Saturday night would just deepen it, but Stiles wasn't going to think about that.

Just like he wasn't thinking about the night before or how he'd had the most erotic dreams of his life and awakened with no need to jerk off because he'd come all over himself in his sleep like he was thirteen again.

Nope, he was going to keep floating on De-Nile.

*****

Arriving at the half-rebuilt Hale House ten minutes early, Stiles strolled into the main room which now had electricity and a couple scruffy couches and chairs, and found Derek only half-listening to Scott expounding on how wrong this thing between Peter and Stiles was.

Stiles rolled his eyes. Scott was like a wolf with a bone.

Heh.

He joined Lydia on one of the couches and caught a glance of the page open on her tablet before she swiped it away. Mating rituals. He'd checked out that source himself the night before. Due to the amount of security needed to get to it, it seemed pretty credible. 

"Peter give you homework, too?"

Lydia gave him a startled look. "No, I..." Jackson walked in from the kitchen and smiled at her, then glared at how close Stiles was sitting.

"Oh, yeah." Only natural for the others to wonder about the intricacies--or lack thereof--of the mating bite and bond. He glanced not very surreptitiously at Lydia's wrists.

"Please, I'm not about to let him bite me before I have my Ph.D."

"I didn't exactly have a choice," he replied in a hard voice and Lydia actually looked chagrined. 

"Sorry."

Never actually managing to stay angry at Lydia for more than a minute, Stiles sighed and accepted her apology, then pulled his own tablet out of his backpack and opened up his research notes. A part of him was still pissed that he'd done the "homework", but mostly he accepted he was just too damn curious.

The rest of the Pack began to gather from various parts of the house and outside, Isaac and Erica placing bags of chips, M&Ms and sodas on the coffee table, before Erica joined Boyd on the loveseat and Isaac folded into one of the beanbag chairs. Derek finally shoved Scott towards the second beanbag and took his own seat on a hardback chair.

A momentary silence fell, and Peter came in the front door, a six pack of beer cradled in one arm. He smiled lazily at the suddenly uncomfortable looking Pack, then graciously handed Derek a beer before moving to the couch and sitting next to Stiles.

Where he handed him a beer.

Stiles gaped at it.

"Why does he get a beer?" Jackson asked petulantly.

Quirking an eyebrow at him, Peter simply opened his own beer and slung his free arm over the back of the couch behind Stiles.

Stiles continued to gape at the bottle in his hand.

"Why don't you answer him, Stiles?"

Not looking at the older man whose fingers were trailing lightly over the top of his shoulder, Stiles opened the beer and took a deep draw, then took a deep breath. "Because, my age no longer matters. As a mated human, I'm considered an adult with all the rights and responsibilities of an adult."

As Peter beamed in pride, Scott growled angrily, "It's still illegal. All of it's illegal."

"Says the non-virgin who drank a whole fifth of Jack last weekend trying to get drunk," Stiles snarked back, rolling his eyes.

Before Scott could continue his argument, Derek interjected, speaking quietly but firmly. "It's true that we're bound by human laws when in human company, but our laws are older, our rituals are older, and here, in our den, Stiles is now an adult."

"And Pack," Isaac said, softly. "I've been feeling it all week." Others nodded in agreement.

"So, if we get mated, do we get to have beer, too?" Jackson just had to add.

"No one else is getting mated before they're eighteen," the Alpha replied strongly, looking, not at Jackson, but at Scott who started to pout, then at Erica and Boyd who were wrapped around each other. Derek sighed. "Tell them why, Peter."

"Are you ready to make a lifelong commitment? For wolves, it's one mate until death do you part. You'll never feel attraction to another, never be able to be with another, not until one of you dies, and when that death comes, it often takes the other."

Erica was the first to pull away from her boyfriend, giving him an uncertain look, and turning fearful eyes on Peter. "But...I feel this draw..."

"Your wolves have chosen each other, but your human selves, you're not ready, sweetling. If you bit each other today, by the end of the year, you'd be bred. Your wolves would insist you carry on your bloodlines. They wouldn't feel secure until you had a cub."

Paling beneath her heavy make-up, Erica pulled completely away from Boyd.

"But, you and Stiles are both male. You can't have children. And, no, Stiles, mpreg is not a real thing. Why do you insist on texting me such silly questions?" Lydia gave him a pointed look.

"Because I'd just been mated against my will to a male werewolf!"

Peter's hand tightened on his shoulder and Stiles hissed in a breath as warmth flooded him. Dammit, he hated this!

"What did your research reveal about what a mated same sex pairing can bring to the Pack, Stiles?" the older man asked, something in his voice telling him he didn't have a choice but to answer.

"The Pack can draw on us for strength, like Derek can on the Pack. We bring the same stability as a male and female pairing, but while we can't have kids, we are actually stronger together, and they're just the same. It's a trade-off."

"You can draw on us to heal, for one thing," Peter added. "I would ask that you not do that yet, unless it's a dire emergency. Until Stiles and I have a strong emotional connection, it'll be too easy to weaken him severely if you pull too much from him."

They all absorbed that for a moment, then Isaac asked the next question. "Erica, you said you're drawn to Boyd, that's the wolf right?" At her nod, he continued, "So does it happen at first sight, Peter?"

"Yes, almost one hundred percent of the time. You see a person, wolf or human, and you just know. For wolves, if both don't feel the connection, the one who does will move on. A human can't feel the bond until the claiming, so the wolf who desires a human will rarely seek another."

"So, if I'd felt it but Erica hadn't, my wolf would have just let her go?"

Peter nodded at Boyd. "It's not easy but our wolves recognize the necessity to find a mate to provide us with either cubs or the added strength, and will let go of the attraction. Even two who recognize each other can break that fledgling bond before the claiming bite, though most don't bother to try unless there are outside factors like a feud between their packs."

Across from him, Stiles saw anger flash across Scott's face, and he inwardly cringed, because Scott was putting it together. "You said that werewolves that want a human will rarely move on. Did you even try, Peter?" he demanded.

"No."

Scott shifted and growled, but before he could leap up from his seat and attack, Derek growled so loudly Stiles clapped his hands over his ears, and the other wolf cowered, changing back to human.

"It was Peter's right to let Stiles go or not. It was his right to pursue him and claim him. We don't do it without consent anymore, but that was taken away from him by the drug."

"So, Stiles has no choice."

"No," Derek snarled.

Scott glared back at him, then at Peter. "If you hadn't been drugged, what would you have done, Peter?"

"That is none of your business."

"No, I'm curious, too," Stiles said sharply and winced as the hand gripping his shoulder tightened even more. Peeking up at Peter from beneath hooded eyes, he saw that his lips were pressed together and there was color on his cheeks.

And, inside himself he could feel something...anger...that wasn't his.

And that part of him wanted to cower and submit to the wolf beside him.

Dammit, he wasn't a submissive! And he wasn't a werewolf. Why was he starting to act like one?

"I would have waited until you were eighteen and courted you. I would have waited and then I would have seduced you. I wasn't ever going to give up on you."

Stiles gaped at him. "And what if I'd fallen madly in love with someone else?"

"I'm very confident in my seduction techniques, Stiles."

"Would you have killed the person?"

"No. Not if I hadn't claimed you yet, but I can be very persuasive and I'm sure I could have scared your lover off. But, it's all a moot point anyway. You're mine."

Feeling himself pale, Stiles tried to jerk away from Peter and, when he couldn't get away, swung the empty beer bottle at him, but the angle was wrong and Peter caught it with a low growl.

"Enough, Stiles," Derek barked and Stiles turned fuming eyes on the Alpha who looked disgruntled and constipated. "Peter, you need to talk to your mate."

He saw Peter balk but finally lower his eyes and nod in agreement and submission, then he rose to his feet and jerked Stiles up with him. Stiles instinctively struggled, but then claws bit into his wrist, pressing beneath the cuff, and heat shot through him. Peter was on the edge of anger and Stiles knew he should try to pacify him, but a part of him wanted to kick him in the balls and run.

As protests rose in the Pack, Peter dragged him out to the porch where he let him go, and Stiles cradled his sore wrist to his chest and glared at the older man.

"I'm not going anywhere with you tonight!"

"Yes, that's probably a good idea," Peter bit back, "Because I'm about to lose control and I really don't think either of us will enjoy that very much." His eyes narrowed and pinned Stiles'. "Saturday night, have a better attitude because this is our life now, Stiles. You can be miserable and still get your ass fucked several times a week, or we can make something of the mating, something good."

"You're insane...again!" And...several times a week? Was Peter planning to fuck him to death?! Heat blossomed on his cheeks and he could see Peter's nostrils flare in anger? Lust? Stiles took an instinctive step backwards and the wolf snarled before shifting and bounding off into the night.

Sinking down on the top step, Stiles buried his face in his hands and tried to breathe.

*****

Nearly forty eight hours passed with Stiles still in as much denial as he could be. He brushed off his friends' concern, refused to talk to Derek, and heard nothing from Peter--for which he was glad.

But, still, late on Saturday afternoon, homework barely started and games continually lost because his concentration was shot, he removed the bandages for the last time--with Deaton's approval--showered, and, when everything else was clean, carefully slid a finger into himself.

The stitches had dissolved and it didn't hurt.

It didn't feel particularly good either.

After his shower, Stiles pulled a face of disgust in his mirror, then brushed his teeth and returned to his room to dress in his regular clothes, not date clothes, because this wasn't a date or anything he wanted.

Arriving at Peter's ten minutes late, he sat in the jeep for another five minutes, before something pulled at the base of his stomach, where he'd realized he felt the bond strongest, and he made a disgruntled noise and got out of the car to stomp up to the apartment. Peter was waiting for him at the open door, a cool look on his face, but Stiles knew he wasn't pleased.

"I could feel you out there, you know."

Shrugging, Stiles walked past him and slipped off his jacket. "Whatever. I'm not in the mood for food, so just do what you gotta do so I can go home."

"Your dad's working until eight in the morning. You're spending the night, and I made homemade ravioli."

"Don't care." He refused to look at the other man, digging his hands into his jeans' pockets and rocking on his feet. "I'm not hungry."

"Tough shit," Peter said, his pleasant tone carrying an edge that sent a shiver through Stiles. He knew he was pushing it but...he needed to know how far he _could_ push.

A hand caught his wrist and snapped off the band, letting it drop to the floor, and he was spun around by the pressure of Peter's grip, and their eyes met.

Peter was ticked off--his eyes bright blue, his nostrils flared, color splashed across his cheeks.

"I'm not staying the night," Stiles reiterated.

"I can make you."

"And I can tell my dad about the older guy who raped his minor son."

That grabbed Peter's attention and he paled slightly, then released Stiles' wrist with a hard shove. "You're being a petulant brat."

"Sixteen, asshole," Stiles shot back, eyes glittering angrily, though he wasn't really sure why he was so angry. At home, he'd just been resigned and unhappy, but Peter was frustrated and now Stiles was frustrated and they were both angry... "Are we feeding off each others emotions?" he asked, shocked, eyes widening.

"We can, if they're heightened, and you're trying to piss me off and succeeding," Peter snapped back at him, then pointed down the hall. "Fine, if you don't want dinner, get your naked ass in my bed."

Biting his lip, still angry, but now growing worried, Stiles turned and nearly ran down the hallway as Peter headed to the kitchen.

The bedroom had one lamp lit and the bed's sheets were turned down. Next to the lamp was the bottle of lube, and Stiles felt a moment of panic. Was Peter so angry that he wouldn't even...

No, even drugged, he'd prepped him.

Biting his lower lips nervously, he stripped off his clothes, leaving them in a pile next to the bed for quick retrieval, then sat down on the edge of the mattress and pulled the sheet over his lap. As the resignation and unhappiness returned full force, his shoulders slumped, and he wondered if part of that was Peter, too.

Rationally he knew he should try to make this work, try to be nice, but he wasn't the nice one--Scott was--and he was unhappy and he didn't want this.

He didn't want his life all mapped out at sixteen, bound to a man he barely could tolerate half the time, a man more than twice his age and recently psychotic. Sure, they'd spent the summer months fighting the Alpha Pack together, both of them using their brains to help defeat them, working well together, and, at times Stiles had preened at Peter's compliments and even...maybe...liked the casual flirting sometimes.

But he hadn't seen this coming at all. He might have given up on Lydia, what with her epic, save him from being a lizard boy, love for Jackson, but Peter hadn't been even a possibility.

And now...Now he was all he could ever have.

Dammit, he wasn't going to cry!

Peter entered the bedroom and closed the door behind him; and Stiles lifted his chin and shot him a hard look because he wasn't going to just roll over.

"The sauce was salvageable, but the ravioli is never good reheated. Your petulance prevented both of us from a very good meal, Stiles."

"You could have eaten. I said _I_ wasn't hungry."

"Well, now you don't get fed at all." As he started to undress, Stiles looked away, staring blankly at the lit lamp.

"I can't be okay with this, Peter," he finally murmured hopelessly.

"At the moment, I don't give a shit." The other side of the bed depressed and then Stiles was flat on his back and Peter was looming over him, naked and already erect. Before he could struggle free, the sheet was yanked down and cold eyes dragged down his squirming, flushing body. "Are you healed?"

"Does it matter?"

They stared angrily at each other for a long moment, then Peter sat back on his heels and rubbed the palm of one hand across his temples. "Yes, it fucking matters, Stiles. I don't want to hurt you. I want to spend the night making love to you, showing you how good it can be, but you're not going to let me, are you."

It wasn't a question, and something clenched in Stiles' chest. Turning over onto his stomach and burying his face in his crossed arms, he mumbled, "No."

"Fine," was the bitten out reply and Stiles watched in relief as Peter grabbed the lube, then felt him straddle his thighs and lightly sit on them. Smooth fingers parted his ass cheeks and the cold lube was poured directly onto his hole, making him bite back a yelp at the chill. Then one of those fingers pushed some of the slick inside him and Stiles forced himself to breathe evenly and relax.

He really didn't want it to hurt like the last time, and he really hoped that had been due to the drug and Peter's loss of control.

Another finger joined the first, twisting together, and he grunted and clenched his teeth as the fingers spread and pumped.

Peter was being quick, but thorough, adding more lube before adding a third finger, and that one hurt, but not unbearably, not as he remembered. Still, Stiles couldn't contain a hiss at the pain and the fingers stilled.

"Relax." That wasn't as angry or cold as Peter's last comments and Stiles tried to do as he said, but it felt so weird, so full and aching.

And then one of the fingers pressed against something that sent sparks of pleasure through him. Prostate, his brain helpfully supplied even as his dick stirred and his hips squirmed.

"Up on your knees."

The moment of pleasure vanished as fear hit. It was going to happen now.

"Stiles, up on your knees. It'll be easier for you," Peter coaxed, his fingers still moving inside him, but slower, and continuing to rub against his prostate.

Forcing himself to get to his knees, Stiles squeezed his eyes shut and dug his fingers into the pillow, waiting for the fingers to be replaced by that much bigger cock and the inevitable pain, because he really wasn't ready and really not aroused at all.

But, Peter resumed stretching him with one hand while the other slipped down over his balls to caress his cock. "You didn't come the first time. The mating wasn't complete. My wolf hasn't settled in the claim," he explained as he began to pump both his hands.

"Oh," Stiles managed to choke out, then bit back a moan as his cock started to harden because Peter's fingers were really skilled, both against his prostate and playing with his slit and his balls and everything in between. He was fully hard within minutes, gasping for air and twitching all over.

Finally, Peter pulled his fingers free and Stiles felt the head of his cock line up, then slowly push in. His breath caught in his throat and he tensed, but Peter's free hand glided along his spine, then gently rubbed at the base. "Relax."

"I...trying," he ground out, really trying to relax because if he didn't it was going to hurt a lot.

Peter gave the tip of his cock a squeeze and Stiles groaned loudly. His asshole unclenched and the older man slid all the way in till his balls were brushing Stiles' ass, and that felt so weird but...not bad. "Okay?"

The anger seemed to be gone from both of them and Stiles nodded, because, while he still wanted this over with so he could go home, it didn't hurt, just felt uncomfortable.

Until Peter pulled back and thrust in again and hit his prostate, making his cock throb and jump in the wolf's hand.

"Do that again!"

Snorting, Peter thrust again and Stiles yelped and bucked his hips back.

Okay, this didn't suck.

As they moved together, learning each others rhythm, Peter continued to pump Stiles' cock, twisting his fingers over the tip in that way Stiles had yet to master that drove him crazy. In just a few minutes he was shuddering and bucking his hips and driving his cock into that tight fist that had grown slick with pre-cum, and Peter was fucking into him harder, low growls bursting from him. After several more minutes, as the need for release just grew and grew, Peter leaned over Stiles' back, slapping their hips together at a rapid pace, making the younger man grunt with each thrust, and his free hand caught Stiles' nape and pinned him gently to the pillow. And Stiles didn't fight it.

And that moment of willing submission was enough to send him over the edge into a nearly painful orgasm. Gasping and shaking, Stiles spilled all over Peter's hand and the bed, arched his back and lifted his hips, and Peter slammed into him as he came in hot bursts.

As he panted into the pillow, his mind compared the two times, and he hadn't really realized Peter had come that first time--the pain had been so awful and there'd been nothing good. This time he felt the warmth spreading through his clenching ass and his own pleasure made him smile helplessly, and when Peter carefully pulled out with a soft grunt, Stiles knew the only things leaking from him were lube and cum.

He hadn't torn. There was no blood this time.

He felt...good. Weird, both full and empty now, and sore--yeah, as the euphoria of his orgasm faded, he was sore now, but it was a soreness he could live with.

The bed shifted and he felt Peter get up. Squinting one eye open, Stiles watched him walk to the bathroom and close the door, then he sank down onto the bed and made a face before shifting out of the wet spot. Ick. More stuff slid down his thighs and he grabbed the sheet and wiped at himself, then pulled a dry part around his hips and turned on his side.

His shoulder ached a bit--overuse even though he hadn't thought he was putting any strain on it--and he felt both languid and tingly.

And, inside, he could feel the bond. When it wasn't specific emotions, it was impossible to describe exactly what he felt, but he knew it was there, stronger than it had been.

They'd both come, so he guessed the claim was set now.

That thought made his stomach clench and he frowned because, okay, yeah, the orgasm was great, but...

The underlying issues were still there.

The bathroom door opened and Peter stepped out, still damp from the shower, a towel around his waist. His eyes met Stiles' briefly, then he turned to his dresser and opened the top drawer. "Go home, Stiles. The bond is fixed and you need to figure out if you want to work on a relationship or continue to act like the world has ended. I don't have the energy to deal with you anymore tonight." Dropping the towel, he drew on boxer shorts and a pair of sweat pants, then left the bedroom without looking back.

Stiles felt a weird pang in his chest and nibbled on his lower lip, before blowing out his breath in annoyance at feeling weird, and getting up to go to the bathroom and clean up.

When he headed down the hall fully dressed, Peter was on the couch, back to him, watching football. Stiles stopped for a moment, unsure if he should say anything, then picked up the discarded leather cuff, and quietly left the apartment.

How come he felt more miserable now than during the sex?

*****

Sunday was spent sleeping in, napping, and going to bed early, all while ignoring his friends and heading off his dad's concern with 'need to study for a big test'. The first three school days of the week were boring and Stiles spent most of his time going through the contradictory research on mating bonds. Outside of the book written by Derek's relative, there wasn't much about humans bonded to werewolves. In most cases, the human took the bite.

Peter didn't try to contact him once and Stiles made no attempt either, but sometimes he thought he could almost feel Peter thinking about him or feeling something directed at him. It was freaky and frustrating and Stiles didn't know what to do about it.

But, nights were the worst. The dreams he had were erotic and scary, all revolving around Peter, sometimes in human form, sometimes as a wolf, usually somewhere in between. 

Bestiality wasn't a thing he'd given any thought to, even after he started hanging around werewolves, but Stiles awoke hard and aching from dreams of Peter as a full blown wolf fucking him.

Stiles spent a lot of effort forgetting those dreams the next day.

At lunch on Wednesday, Lydia cornered him while he picked at his tuna surprise, giving him a stern look before taking a bite of her salad, then pointing the fork at him. " _You_ have been quiet. _That_ is just wrong."

Shrugging, he shoved the tuna mess aside and started on the pudding cup--they couldn't fuck with that at least.

"Look, I know this sucks, but you're not a mopey damsel in distress. You're a stubborn ass." 

"Gee, thanks, Lydia. You're really cheering me up," he said dryly and snagged her pudding cup in retaliation--knowing also that she wouldn't eat it.

"You're also pragmatic, realistic, and not an idiot. We're a lot alike, and I like to think that if I was in your position, I would man up and make the best of the situation."

"You'd kill Peter in his sleep."

She seriously contemplated that, then snorted, "Maybe. But I wouldn't rail against the gods or whatever you're doing. I would accept it."

Staring at her, spoon in his mouth, Stiles realized...she was right.

But, he wasn't ready to admit that or face what few options he had.

"Can we change the subject because I'm already depressed?"

Lydia huffed. "Fine. Danny's impromptu hump day party at Jungle tonight. Eight o'clock because it is a school night. Be there, get drunk, have fun."

Huh. Yeah, that might... 

He found himself nodding and finished his pudding, well, her pudding, as she serenely and delicately ate lettuce.

*****

By nine o'clock, Stiles had a nice buzz going. He'd allowed Lydia and Allison to dress him in slightly tighter than normal dark jeans and a dark red, cotton shirt that was cut to his body and didn't just hang on him. Neither item of clothing had been in his closet. He had no clue why these girls seemed so determined to spend their money on him, but who was he to argue?

Apparently he looked good enough that two guys, college aged at least, bought him drinks so he only had to use his fake I.D. a couple times. He'd danced with the girls and with the Pack as a whole, but he was still surprised when the guy--Joel he'd said his name was, and he was poured into his black pants and white t-shirt--asked him to dance.

Finishing his current drink, tipsy, warm and happy, Stiles nodded and bounced after Joel onto the dance floor.

Three fast songs later, they were laughing and dancing to the heavy beat, when a slower song started to play, and Joel easily wrapped his arms around Stiles' waist and pulled him close.

Stiles felt good, happy, and he smiled and looped his arms around the other man's neck. They kept a slight distance between them for that dance but the next one, at the same time, they moved closer, their bodies brushing together, and their heads came to rest on the others shoulder.

When that song ended, and the beat picked up, Joel gestured with his head to a table in a far corner and took Stiles hand and led him there.

Stiles passed most of the Pack and saw they were frowning, but that didn't really sink in. All that did was that a really cute, gay guy who wasn't more than two or three years older than him, wanted to spend time with him. He followed him into a booth where they were both pressed together from shoulder to hip, and when Joel's foot twined with his, Stiles grinned sloppily.

They spent about five minutes talking about nothing in particular and then Joel nudged him, a different kind of smile on his face. "You wanna go somewhere?"

Maybe he should have been expecting that, but he'd never been propositioned by anyone before and...

Joel's lips were on his, soft, wet, warm, and Stiles heard his own heart start to pound. It was nice. It was...

Yeah, maybe they could go somewhere.

And, as soon as that thought crossed his mind, a tight hand wrapped around his bicep and yanked him out of the booth. 

"Hey!" Joel protested and Stiles saw the flash of anger on his face meld with concern and then confusion, and Stiles figured it was his dad, but then...

There was a deep, icy cold growl, and his heart skipped a beat and he sobered up immediately.

Shit.

What the Hell was he doing?

"Hey, man, let him go," Joel said, but he was hesitant and fearful, and Stiles was spun around to face not only Peter but also Derek who was looming next to him and glaring at Joel.

"Get lost," Derek said sharply, not looking at Stiles at all.

Stiles' attention flailed between the two wolves, because he couldn't focus on Peter, he couldn't, because every time he looked at him, he felt his dark anger, his rage, and it was making him want to drop to his knees and beg for forgiveness.

And that just pissed him off.

"Let me go," he hissed, grabbing for Peter's hand on his arm to try to pry it off, and then suddenly the Pack was there, surrounding them both and ushering them out of the club even as they were shielding Stiles being manhandled by a man old enough to be his father. Behind him, he could hear Joel still protesting and Danny placating him as Derek continued to growl.

Once they were outside, the Pack dissipated and Stiles was shoved into Peter's car. A furious growl kept him in his seat as the door was slammed behind him, and he felt nausea churn in his stomach from alcohol and fear, as Peter rounded the car and slid into the driver's seat. The car leapt down the street, speeding way too quickly, and, with shaking hands, Stiles put on his seat belt, fumbling with the clasp twice before getting it set, then hung on to the strap.

As they sped through a stop sign, he closed his eyes and prayed that they didn't wreck or get stopped by any of the deputies, all of whom knew him all too well.

Thankfully they reached Peter's apartment complex without incident and Stiles waited in the car for Peter to open his door.

"Out."

He got out.

He figured that if he stayed in the car, Peter, in the dark mood he was in, would just yank him out and, while creating a scene might help for a moment, there was no way to know if Peter wouldn't just slaughter anyone who intervened.

And...Stiles had screwed up. He knew that. Peter had a right to be angry.

Still, Stiles figured he should talk his way out of whatever was coming, so he followed Peter up to the apartment and into the main room. Peter turned on the overhead light and tossed down his jacket, then stalked over to the younger man. When he stopped only two feet from him, Stiles saw just how coldly furious he was, and he forced himself not to cringe.

This new submissive aspect--he understood it, but he hated it.

"Peter, look, I know you're pissed, but let's talk, okay? I got drunk. I wasn't going to do..."

"Stiles, shut up!"

That came out so angrily, so nastily, that Stiles took an instinctive step back and did shut up. Heat flooded his cheeks and he watched Peter's nostrils flare and his lips tighten.

He tried again. "I just...I wanted...I'm confused." That was lame, but what excuse did he have?

"You were kissing another man. You dared to let another man touch you. He was only moments away from luring you into the bathroom or the alley. How soon before you would have been on your knees for this stranger?"

He didn't yell. That made it even worse. He was iced over.

Stiles' hands went up, trying to placate, and he licked his lips. He was nervous. This wasn't going well, and, Peter was right. He'd been damn close to doing things with Joel that a couple weeks ago he would have been thrilled to do with anyone, but now...There was Peter. Even though he wasn't happy about their mating, even though he didn't really want Peter...

Lydia was right.

Pragmatic, realistic, not an idiot.

He was Peter's.

"Peter, please, let's just talk." 

The wolf growled, a threat, and Stiles gulped and tried to make himself small.

But, he couldn't just surrender, submit, become what Peter wanted. "Talk to me, don't just growl..."

Peter interrupted with a hard slash of his hand and Stiles stumbled back against the couch, nearly falling over it, as the older male barked, "Quiet. I want to hear only one thing from you. My hand or my belt."

Stiles' stomach dropped to his feet and he gaped at the older man. He could not have just said that!

He'd never been spanked in his life, not even a swat from his dad when he'd been such a brat those months after they'd lost his mom.

"What?" His tongue felt swollen, his lips numb, and his brain just...stopped.

"Two dozen should suffice to get the point across." Peter folded his arms over his chest and loomed, face a frozen mask. It hid the anger, but Stiles knew that remained behind the cold blue eyes. He could feel it beating at him.

"Look, Peter, there's gotta be..."

"Do you want three?"

Snapping his mouth shut, Stiles dumbly shook his head.

"Hand or belt?"

He couldn't see any way out of this! You didn't run from werewolves. Peter wouldn't listen to him.

And...a part of him...That new and unwanted part of him knew he deserved punishment. Derek's words that first night came back, about the werewolf whipping his unfaithful mate, and a shiver went through him.

"Stiles."

Jolting at the anger in Peter's voice, Stiles blurted out, "Belt," because a hand was too intimate and he didn't want that. 

Peter nodded. "Go to the bedroom, lower your jeans and underwear and place yourself across the bed."

As he turned to obey, sudden tears pricked his eyes, and he didn't understand them. Yeah, he was scared because this was going to hurt and he didn't like pain, but...why was Peter so cold? At least the anger was passionate. The coldness just...it was so clinical.

Numbly he walked down the hall and into the bedroom. With a shaking hand he turned on the bedside lamp, really not wanting the overhead light to shine down on his naked, white ass, then fumbled with his belt, finally undoing it and dropping his jeans and boxer briefs to his knees. The shaking spread to his whole body and he slumped down over the side of the bed, feet on the floor and face buried in his crossed arms.

God, please keep him from crying like a baby!

At the sound of footsteps on the hardwood floor of the hall, Stiles started to shake even harder and he dug his fingers into the bedspread to keep from flying to his feet. 

Peter stopped next to the bed, on his left and then there was the sound of leather on cloth, and Stiles bit his lip to keep from pleading.

He didn't want three dozen, he really didn't.

"Do I need to restrain you?" 

What? Oh fuck no! Shaking his head wildly, he braced his feet harder against the floor and tensed. 

A hand on his back, lifting the shirt tails, made him jerk his head up, but he quickly buried it again, breathing harshly through his nose. He didn't want to watch any of this.

"Count."

Before he could catch his breath, the leather slapped hard across his butt, and Stiles gasped in shock at the burst of pain. He really hadn't known what to expect. Fists, hard shoves against harder surfaces, kicks, those he knew. Forcing his mouth open, he choked out, "One."

As soon as he did, the belt fell again, in a new spot, making new pain blossom, and he squeezed his eyes shut and counted, "Two."

After five his whole ass was on fire, the blows spaced out to cover him from just below his waist to just above his thighs. His skin stung and he knew he'd be black and blue by morning. He wasn't going to be able to sit again. The sixth blow slapped down across the curve of his ass where a previous blow had landed, and he was unable to hold in a yelp of pain as he cried out the number. 

Peter wasn't going easy on him. Maybe a hand, even a werewolf's would have been less painful.

After the first dozen, with Stiles choking out each number, drooling into the bedding and clutching it for dear life, eyes stinging with unshed tears, and the deep desire to get off the bed and run making him shiver, Peter stopped. His hand touched his sore, burning ass, and Stiles flinched, his whole body trembling in reaction. 

The touch was oddly gentle.

"Twelve more," Peter said, his voice softening as well, but when he moved to Stiles' other side, and he saw the menacing looking belt dangling from his fist, he quickly rolled his head the other way and closed his eyes again.

The next blow, coming from the other side, sent a whole new wave of pain crashing through him and he barely got out, "Thirteen," before another and another. Between the seventeenth and eighteenth, Stiles choked on his breath and whimpered and, for the first time, tried to wriggle away.

"Stay still," Peter barked and the next blow hit so hard, Stiles' vision went black for an instant. Finally he was able to get enough breath to sob out, "Eighteen," and then braced for the next lash.

But, it didn't come.

"Shit. I didn't mean..." Peter mumbled and the bed depressed and a finger barely touched one of the scabs from his claws. "I didn't mean to make you bleed."

What?

His whole ass throbbed with pain. Now he was bleeding?

Slowly he craned his head back and opened his heavy eyes, unwittingly letting the tears slide free. Peter was sitting next to him, the belt on his lap, looking at a streak of blood on his finger.

His finger was trembling, or maybe that was Stiles' vision.

"The scabs broke loose." For a moment their eyes met, and there was sorrow there now, no longer ice, and Stiles shuddered because somehow that seemed worse. "I'll get a washcloth, some alcohol. I'll..."

"No," Stiles interrupted, his voice hoarse. "Six more."

"What?" 

Ignoring the disbelief in Peter's voice, Stiles reiterated, "Six more. I...deserve..." He choked again and reburied his face in his arms, not believing he wasn't taking the out he was being given.

Slowly the weight next to him disappeared as Peter rose again. "All right," he finally agreed and then the belt came down for the nineteenth time, not quite as hard, not near the scabs, but still painful. When Stiles bit out the number, Peter murmured it as well, and that continued through the twenty-fourth.

The belt dropped to the bed next to him and Stiles blinked his wet eyes open, sniffling a bit. Pushing up on trembling arms, he turned to look at Peter, who looked...sad.

Stiles didn't want him to be sad, or, at least, that new part of him didn't, and, taking a deep breath against the jolting pain, he pushed himself down off the bed to his knees. His jeans were around his calves, his boxers just above his knees, but he didn't bother to pull them up, just shuffled a bit, staying up on his knees because sitting on his heels would be too painful, and wrapped his arms around Peter's hips.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled without even thinking about it, then nuzzled his tear-streaked nose and cheeks against Peter's crotch.

And got a reaction.

Oh.

The beating hadn't made Peter hard, but Stiles' touch was, and his own dick, already thicker than normal--and he didn't want to think about why--twitched and rose to half-mast.

"Stiles," Peter choked out, "Let me get the bleeding stopped and you can go..." His protest was cut off completely by Stiles' wet mouth pressing against his soft cotton and linen covered cock. 

His fingers fumbled, but they got the button and zipper open and then he was able to mouth him through just thin cotton boxer shorts.

"You don't need...Fuck!"

Almost grinning at that reaction, Stiles pressed his fingers up behind his balls again as he continued to kiss and lick the swelling bulge. He'd never done this, never thought seriously about doing this, certainly not with Peter and, yet...

Using his other fingers, he drew the cock through the slit in the shorts and bravely pressed a wet kiss to the tip.

Peter hissed and, wrapping one arm around him again for balance, Stiles leaned down lower and sucked in an inch or so.

The dick in his mouth was surprisingly soft and hard at the same time, and it didn't taste bad. Musky yet clean with a hint of citrus soap. Pulling back with a smack of his lips, he widened them and took him farther the second time, till the tip brushed the entrance to his throat and he choked a bit. When he pulled off this time he watched from slightly crossed eyes as the wolf wrapped one hand around the base of his erection and guided it back into Stiles' mouth. The placement of his hand prevented his cock from going too deeply and Stiles began to suck and lick with surprising enthusiasm. 

The dim part of his brain still functioning remembered what Peter had done to him, what had made him feel good, and he tried to emulate him. It was sloppy, wet, and a couple times his teeth scraped the tender flesh in his mouth, but Stiles kept going and when Peter's other hand found his head and started to guide him, he didn't fight it. It seemed right.

His ass throbbed in pain, he was hot and sweaty, his own dick was hardening even more just from doing this to Peter, and he wasn't sure exactly why he felt he should do this, but Peter was enjoying it. He was grunting and groaning and lightly thrusting his hips. Stiles could taste the pre-cum on his tongue and his jaw was starting to ache, but he kept bobbing his head and sucking, learning the shape, size, taste and feel of Peter's cock and liking how thick it was, how heavy his balls were still trapped in the cotton shorts. Fondling them, he sucked harder, moaning around the shaft and Peter grunted loudly and tightened his hand on top of Stiles' head.

Someday would he just let Peter fuck his face and be able to take him down his throat?

At that thought, Stiles' cock throbbed but he didn't touch it. This was for Peter. 

Glancing up through damp eyes, he saw the desire, the raw need on the older man's face as he looked down at him, watching him take his cock. "So good," he crooned, then let his head fall back and pumped his hips harder, nearly gagging Stiles again, but he still just took it and forced himself to breathe through his nose and not look away.

Until with a loud groan, Peter pulled out, and Stiles saw he was shaking, his cock was red and slick with spit and pre-cum, and his eyes, as he looked back down at him, were a bit wild.

"Don't...don't stop." Clutching his hips, Stiles tried to bring his cock back to him.

"Mouth or face."

Not sure why Peter kept giving him choices, Stiles knew which one he wanted and opened his mouth as wide as he could. 

Taking his head in both hands, Peter thrust back inside, once, twice, making him gag and dig his fingers into Peter's hips, but then cum coated his tongue and the roof of his mouth. Stiles tried to swallow, only to cough as the wolf pulled out and painted his lips with the rest of his semen.

Panting for air and rubbing his throat where the head of Peter's cock had hit, he swallowed the salty, bitter cum, then, with another upward glance, licked his lips clean.

He was shaking again from reaction, Peter was shaking from his orgasm, and the pain Stiles had kept at bay returned hard, making him sob, just once, but it was enough.

"Oh, Stiles." The older man slumped down on the bed and reached for Stiles who went willingly into his arms and up onto his lap, even though it made his ass hurt even more. Soft lips brushed his, a tongue licked out at the corner of his mouth, and the kiss slowly deepened.

Desperately trying not to cry, Stiles didn't really return the kiss, just clung to his shoulders and back, and Peter broke the kiss to rest his panting mouth against the side of the younger man's neck as he burrowed into his chest.

Suddenly Peter wrapped his free hand, the other one holding him close, around his flagging dick and began to pump. Stiles whimpered and held him tighter, eyes closed, pleasure mingling with the pain as he quickly reached erection. "Let me," Peter murmured. "You're so tense. Been on the edge too long. Just let go," he coaxed, his fingers, now wet with pre-cum, gliding easily, tightly, just as Stiles liked it. Despite the pain in his ass, his hips squirmed, trying to thrust, but Peter held him still and jerked him hard and fast, bringing him nearly to orgasm within just a few minutes. It was embarrassingly quick and he must have sobbed something along that order, because Peter whispered, "It's okay, Stiles. Just come for me." His fingers did that twist several times in quick succession and Stiles couldn't hold back. With an arch of his back and a sob, he came in hard shudders.

After a few minutes of panting and whimpering, he opened his eyes to see Peter licking his fingers clean, then the wolf's brilliant blue eyes met his and Stiles was confused by the guilt on his face.

When he spoke, though, his voice was firm and low. "I'm going to clean you up, tend to the wounds, and then you're going to go home and seriously think about our future."

Yeah. Stiles should probably do that.

And seriously think about why he'd been partially aroused from the beating.

Peter hadn't been.

The pain sucked. The beating had been scary. Nothing about either had been a turn on, so what had?

As he tried to figure it out, he realized Peter had shifted him onto his stomach on his bed again and he reached down to adjust his sensitive cock, then waited. A wet cloth was carefully applied to his butt, but it still hurt and he hissed deeply, then yelled as alcohol swabs touched the split open claw marks.

"They've stopped bleeding," Peter breathed, then helped him up and redressed him. His gentleness, at complete odds with the man who'd so coldly taken a belt to him, reminded Stiles of that first night, when he'd pulled up his underwear and pants and, even doped up, had tried to protect him and help him.

Maybe...maybe that was the truth about mates.

Taking a shuddering breath, Stiles winced at the cloth hitting his ass--it still felt hot, had to be turning lovely colors, and he really wished it was the weekend so he could spend the day on his stomach in bed---and wrapped his arms defensively around himself.

A glance at the clock on the nightstand showed him it wasn't even ten thirty. Amazingly enough, an hour ago he'd been drunk, happy, and kissing another man.

Now he was sober, in pain, and deeply regretting the whole night.

And he hated that he'd hurt Peter.

And he hated himself for hating that.

Needing to get out of the suddenly stifling room and away from his own confused emotions and the sorrowful wolf, Stiles hurried out the door as quickly as his aching muscles would let him.

Peter didn't say anything, didn't try to stop him, and he just kept shuffling to the entry to the apartment. He had no clue how he was getting home, but he just needed out. When he pulled open the door and fled through it, he nearly stumbled into Derek, hovering in the common hallway, frowning, hands in his jacket pockets, looking as unhappy as always.

Stiles gaped at him, then felt himself turn bright red. Had he heard...? "What are you doing here?"

"Peter asked me to come here, to make sure he stayed in control," was the short, sharp reply. "I'll drive you home. Scott took your jeep home from the club." Derek started for the stairs and Stiles gulped and trailed behind him.

He really didn't want to be in a car with the Alpha--all those admonishments about infidelity and punishments kept playing through his head, and, despite Derek's assurance at the time that he wouldn't make Peter hurt him...

What Stiles had done had damaged the Pack. Everything he'd read had alluded to that. If a mate was unfaithful, the bond between the two weakened, which weakened the whole Pack.

Carefully taking the passenger seat and trying for one hip, which still throbbed in pain, Stiles took several deep breaths and finally mumbled, "I'm sorry."

"Why?" Derek started the car and Stiles stared at his profile.

"Um...Because I hurt the Pack?"

"Your bond with Peter is too new, too weak, to do that...yet," he added sharply, sending Stiles a dark look that made him want to cower and bare his throat.

He resisted, but he didn't know what else to say.

Surprisingly, Derek kept talking, filling the uncomfortable silence with words he obviously didn't want to say. "You don't love Peter. You may never love him and that's between the two of you, but you have only two choices here, Stiles. To accept or to fight and lose. You're not stupid. You're young, too fucking young, but you're not stupid. If you let him, Peter will give you the world."

"He killed your sister."

"That's between him and me."

"He hurt Lydia."

"That's between he and Lydia and maybe Jackson."

As his arguments were so easily and coldly swept aside Stiles began to feel numb and frowned at himself. Turning his head slightly he leaned his heated cheek against the cool window and closed his eyes.

"Do you trust him, Derek?"

There was silence for several minutes as Derek drove through the quiet neighborhood streets, but finally he responded. "I trust that he wants your mating to be true, that he'll protect you with his life, that he cares for you." He fell silent again and after another turn, drove down Stiles' street to park across from his house. Stiles started to get out of the car, but Derek's hand on his arm stopped him and he gave the Alpha a quizzical look. "Because of all that, I trust he has the Pack's best interests at heart because you're Pack. During the last four months I wondered a lot why he stuck around, why he didn't just abandon us to the Alpha Pack."

"Because of me?"

Derek nodded and let him go, then gave him an uncomfortable look, finally mumbling, "Are you...okay?"

Flushing, Stiles nodded, then rose awkwardly from the low slung car, wincing as his butt throbbed. "Thanks, Derek."

There was no response as the Alpha peeled away from the curb, and Stiles sighed and limped across the street, nodding at his jeep sitting in the driveway and hoping Scott put the keys somewhere he could find them.

At least his dad wasn't home yet, and, amazingly enough, it wasn't even past his school night curfew.

Going into the kitchen, he drank a big glass of water--a hangover was unlikely as he felt really sober, but it helped the ibuprofen go down--then made his way up the stairs. He was exhausted, too tired to even take a shower, and headed straight into his room, only to find Scott sitting in the middle of his bed, frowning deeply. At least his keys were sitting prominently on his bedside table.

"Too tired," Stiles protested, kicking off his shoes and aiming them towards the closet.

"You smell like pain." Scott frowned even deeper and jumped gracefully from the bed to approach Stiles and start sniffing him. Immediately he pulled back, grimacing. "And, um, sex."

Rolling his eyes, Stiles fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, half-wondering if Lydia would kill him if he just tore it open, but finally getting them undone and sliding it down his sore arms. Why were his arms sore? His thighs were, too, he guessed from bracing for the blows. "Why are you here?" he asked as he turned to his dresser and pawed through his t-shirt drawer for his vintage Star Wars top. It didn't have "New Hope" or "Episode IV" on it, and had been his mom's. It was soft and faded and he only wore it when he needed comfort.

Something Scott knew. "What did he do to you?"

"I'm okay, Scott. Go home," was muffled by the t-shirt as he pulled it over his head.

"Yeah, no," his best friend growled, eyes flashing gold. "Derek should have put a stop to this days ago."

"Don't blame Derek for this because you still have issues with him. There's no stop, Scott." As he protested, he unbuckled his belt and managed to get out of the jeans without too much wiggling, leaving them where they fell and only half-tripping out of them. The movement made him wince and groan softly.

"Okay, now you reek of pain. What did he do?"

"You want all the embarrassing details?" Stiles yelled, flailing his arms at him and driving him back a few steps. His ass muscles rebelled and he automatically reached back to touch a particularly sore spot, and winced again. "Shit."

Eyes widening, Scott paled, then tried to look anywhere but Stiles. "Did he spank you?" 

"Did my lack of brain to mouth filter transfer to you somehow?" Deflect, deflect.

Scott made a face and slumped down in the desk chair.

"I'm not six. No, he didn't spank me." But, he could feel his cheeks burning and he really wanted to lay down but Scott would see him wince again as soon as his ass touched the mattress.

Obviously not believing him at all, Scott stated, "You need to tell Derek. He needs to stop Peter from hurting you."

"Derek knows. He brought me home." Crossing his arms over his chest, he finally gave up and slumped onto the bed, sitting on his left hip which was slightly less sore due to Peter going easier on the last several blows from the right side.

"I don't get this," Scott groaned. "Why did he hurt you? Just the thought of hurting Allison is unbearable and she's not even...I mean we haven't..." He shot Stiles a flustered look and Stiles sighed and rubbed his tired eyes.

"You did see my stupidity at Jungle, right?" At Scott's nod, he continued, "Werewolves are unable to be unfaithful to their mates. Humans don't have that kind of instinctive fidelity. I got drunk, a cute guy danced with me and touched me and kissed me. Peter must have felt it all. It was wrong of me to do that."

"But, you should be able to kiss anyone you want. This is all so wrong, Stiles. I know you know that!"

"No shit, Scott, but there's no choice here. There's no going back, there's no changing it. And don't even think about it again. I don't want him to die!"

Scott stared at him for a long minute, then said softly, "He's become one of the few who mean something to you."

"Huh?"

"Come on, Stiles, you know what I mean. The ones you care about, you'll do anything for, but the rest of the world can jump off a cliff. You used to feel that way about Derek, not caring if he lived or died, but two months ago you jumped in front of him to protect him from Kali and got that scar down your side for your efforts."

"And yelled at for an hour by Derek," Stiles mumbled, staring down at his feet and wondering if he had the energy to take off his socks. He didn't want to accept what Scott was saying, but sometimes his friend was amazingly perceptive.

"When did you forgive Peter?" 

Oh shit, there was hurt on Scott's face. "I...I don't know if I have, Scott, but, come on, we proved that his psycho nurse was the one who lured Laura here so that Peter could kill her. He was barely cognizant of what he was doing until a couple weeks after he bit you. He was going on instinct, and even then he was still broken. There was physical damage to his brain which didn't heal until he came back to life. The murders, what he did to Lydia, he was still psychotic when those things happened. He's different now."

"Do you love him?"

Stiles winced. "God no, and I'm not sure I ever can, but, Jesus, Scott, he's all I can have. He's the only person I can kiss and touch and, look, you've had sex, you know how fucking good it is. I'm not going back to celibacy."

Scott's face went from pale to red and he shifted in his seat in embarrassment, which made Stiles roll his eyes again. 

"Yes, we have sex, and it doesn't suck. It's pretty fucking fantastic."

Because...it was. Even tonight, with him in pain and confused and a sobbing mess, the orgasm had blissed him out. Coming was so much better at the hand of someone else.

"Um, but doesn't it hurt?"

Snorting, Stiles grinned evilly. "Oh, so you do want details."

"Fuck no!"

He couldn't help it, he laughed, and after a minute, Scott started snorting and chuckling, too. Once he calmed down, Stiles pointed at his window. "Dude, I'm exhausted, and, yes, I'm in pain. I deserved it. I'll own it. I just want to sleep. Sitting tomorrow at school is going to suck."

"So, um, he did spank you, because you smell bruised, not, um, the other thing, not um...inside...deep. Urk."

Great, so werewolves could tell the difference between surface bruising and soreness from fucking? "Little kids are spanked." Scott was like a fucking dog with a bone, and Stiles sighed and admitted, "He used his belt."

Which made the werewolf pale again and rise to his feet to hover over his best friend. "My dad, he used to..."

Yeah, Stiles knew that and should have remembered, but he wasn't thinking too clearly. "Your dad was an asshole who got drunk and took his anger out on you with his belt. Even when you did something stupid or disobeyed, you didn't deserve that. You remember I was there with my dad when he was called in on that last domestic disturbance. Your dad was ranting and wailing on you, out of control. Peter was...never out of control and Derek was there to stop him if he was."

"But, he was mad."

"Yeah, and he had the right to be."

Scott got mulish and shook his head. "Adults shouldn't punish other adults like kids. He should never hit you!"

"Werewolves are different." And, as he said the words, Stiles realized they were true. The research he'd done, the books he'd read, even Derek's aunt's, had all referenced dominant mates disciplining their submissives with physical punishment. Wolves could take pain so readily that they didn't use other ways to deal with human mates and human children. It wasn't to hurt them permanently. It was a lesson in embarrassment, in...submission. Fuck, it all made sense. "Werewolves have violent instincts. You know this. If growling at you doesn't make you fall in line, how does Derek deal with you guys?"

"Hits us or smacks us into something."

"But, not really to hurt you. To teach you a lesson to obey. Obedience is so important in a pack, especially when Hunters come out of the woodwork to try to kill us. A disciplined pack is a strong pack, not that we shouldn't question Derek, even yell at the big ass at times because a pack is a family as well, but when push comes to shove, we have to be united, we have to understand each other, and we have to be loyal."

"So...you were disloyal and..."

Stiles nodded, understanding now why he'd accepted the punishment, why he'd made Peter continue it, and even why he'd been a little aroused. It wasn't the pain. It wasn't from Peter's anger. It was the discipline. For most of his life, Stiles had lived on the edge of control--stubborn, fighting authority, pushing the limits. The medication reined him in a bit, his father tried as well, but this evening, Peter had finally controlled him.

And he'd felt such relief, though, at the time, he hadn't been able to explain it to himself or understand what he was feeling.

"Look, really, Scott, I'm okay. I'm okay with what Peter did. I understand why you aren't, though. It's okay. You need to get home before your mom grounds you for being out past curfew. I'll see you in school tomorrow."

Slowly Scott nodded, though he still looked confused and unhappy. "Um, I can take some of the pain."

"Yeah, you're not touching my ass."

With a snort and a wave, his best friend climbed out the window.

"Perfectly good door," Stiles muttered as he rose painfully to his feet and shuffled over to close the window, then turned off his light and collapsed face down on his bed.

Despite the pain, he was asleep within minutes.

*****

School was, again, a nightmare. A couple of the werewolves made faces after sniffing the heavy coating of arnica on his ass--they were used to the smell of various types of liniment from the locker room and lacrosse, but not the location--but didn't comment. Lydia spent every moment they were in the same room frowning in concern at him. He avoided her at lunch by skipping it and hiding in the library.

His ass hurt. Bruises sucked. And his mind was too full of confusion to concentrate on any of the subjects. It was quite possible he'd had a Spanish test. When he realized it an hour or so later he really hoped he answered in Spanish and not Latin.

Maybe he should have taken Latin. For a dead language it had a surprising number of real world applications in his real world, and half the books he used to research these days were at least partially in Latin. Maybe he could switch next semester...

At the end of the day, Lydia cornered him at his locker and Stiles groaned and smacked his face against the door.

She tsked. "You didn't listen to me about not being stupid, did you."

"You lured me to the club last night, encouraged me to drink," he accused.

"I'm pretty sure I didn't encourage you to suck on the tonsils of some college boy."

Stiles flushed and closed his locker before turning to her. "One last fling?"

"Uh huh." Giving him a look of tired disbelief, she craned her head and focused her eyes on his ass, then turned back to him and just shook her head. "Tell me you understand why he did that. Why a wolf," she lowered her voice, "metes out physical discipline."

Flushing even more, Stiles nodded, and Lydia smiled sadly and patted his cheek. "Then there's hope for you yet."

Watching her flounce down the hall, he realized he felt nothing more than fondness for her.

Huh. When did that happen?

*****

Pack meeting that night and Stiles got there early because he wanted to...Well, he wasn't really sure what he wanted to do. He did claim the loveseat, though, which was always reserved, in an unspoken way, for the couples.

Jesus. He wasn't ready for this.

His palms started to sweat and he distractedly plucked at the collar of his t-shirt and kind of wished he'd gone with the blue plaid over shirt rather than the red because the red kind of clashed with the green and blue of his Grateful Dead t-shirt--that was his Grandma Stilinski's, because his mom had been more into Counting Crows and REM. How Grandma had birthed a country music loving guy who managed to land a rocker chick was still beyond Stiles.

That wasn't the point.

He wondered what music Peter liked.

Oh god, probably the same as his mom.

"You look like you're having an existential crisis," Lydia said as she swanned past him to her regular seat on the couch where she tossed aside the excessive number of throw pillows Erica had piled there. Lydia liked to spread her research out on the coffee table and the seat beside her and, if Stiles sat beside her, all over him, too. Jackson would usually perch on the arm next to her to avoid being a table.

How old was Peter? Stiles knew he'd been the youngest of his generation but he'd been married and had a kid, though Peter never talked about them. He didn't even know how old the child had been or if it had been a boy or a girl.

Probably things he should learn.

He was so deep in thought that he missed Erica giving him a weird look, Boyd just shaking his head at her and leading her to one of the overstuffed easy chairs where she curled on his lap, Scott giving him a really confused look and scratching his head, before Allison tugged him over to the couch where Lydia sat, and Peter coming in and staring at him.

When he finally looked up, he did notice that the room was completely quiet except for barely audible breathing, and that everyone, not just Peter was staring at him, well, except for Derek who looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here.

After what seemed like a year, Peter crossed the room, adjusted his leather coat, and sat down next to Stiles. The loveseat wasn't really designed for two men, even if one was scrawny, and their arms and hips and thighs brushed.

That also might have been due to the fact that Stiles wasn't sitting up against the arm, but more in the middle.

"So...this is awkward."

Peter pursed his lips and looked...Stiles couldn't tell what that emotion was. Couldn't feel it either, as Peter seemed to be blocking him, but, okay, so humor was out.

He shut his mouth and, thankfully, Derek started grousing about too many of the Betas goofing off at the earlier training session.

About half way through the various discussions--and occasional barking of orders and demands--to which neither Stiles nor Peter contributed one iota, Stiles noticed that the older man's fingers were tapping on his knee.

Usually werewolves could sit completely still. He was the one who fidgeted all the time. It was weirdly fascinating.

Glacially slowly Stiles slid his hand over and brushed it against the back of Peter's. The tapping stopped and they both looked down to watch the younger man's fingers entwine with the older's.

Neither looked at the other, but they sat for the rest of the meeting holding hands.

At the end of the meeting, with all the arguments hashed out--or simmering beneath the surface waiting to erupt violently during the next training session--Allison reached for her bag. Pack meeting was now switching to movie night and she'd been the designated DVD chooser, but Stiles abruptly stood up, nearly dragging Peter with him before he remembered to let go of his hand.

"Um...I have something to say."

Curious, the Pack quieted down, but Stiles' attention was on Derek, who looked as blank as he often did, but something sparked in his eyes and he sat up straighter.

Nervously clasping his hands together, he focused his eyes on Derek's chin and started to speak. "I owe our Alpha an apology for my behavior last night. I put the pack bond at risk."

There were a few comments and a low rumble of confusion until Derek glared everyone to silence and rose to his feet. "Will you do it again?"

"No."

"As a human you're not bound as tightly to your mate or your pack as a werewolf. Do you want the bite?"

"No." His voice was clear, the denial true...for the moment. Behind him, he heard Peter rise to his feet and a gentle hand cupped the nape of his neck.

"Do you acknowledge that as your Alpha I have the right and responsibility to prevent you from weakening or harming the Pack and all of its members, human and werewolf, and the right and responsibility to discipline you if you do?"

"Yes."

"I've ceded those rights and responsibilities to Peter."

Stiles nodded in understanding and relaxed slightly when Derek's laser focus went to his uncle. 

"Did he learn his lesson last night, Peter?"

"Only time will tell, but I believe so or he wouldn't be doing this," Peter replied firmly, his thumb massaging Stiles' neck. "And this is as much a surprise to me as it is to you, Derek." Leaning in a bit, he murmured into Stiles' ear. "Where did you learn the protocols?"

"Your aunt Sarabeth's book."

"Ah." Peter smiled against his cheek and Stiles shivered, but not in a bad way. "If we're done here, Derek, I'll take my mate home."

"Of course." Derek sat back down and that seemed to shatter the strange, almost awed silence that had fallen over the teenagers, who all started to talk at once.

Except for Lydia, who was smiling at Stiles like a proud mother.

Lips twisting into some semblance of a smile, he shrugged back and, when Peter's hand slid down his back to his hip, he let himself be guided towards the front door.

But, trust Scott to get in the way, looking both confused and upset. "You can't be alright with this, Stiles," he hissed. "And what the Hell was all that?"

"Protocol."

"Yeah, that doesn't explain!"

"Look, I'll bring the book to school tomorrow. You and Allison both should read it because, if you're lucky, it's going to apply to you someday, because her dad will never let her become a werewolf, whether she's your mate or not. Until then, talk to Derek." He gave his best friend a mischievous smile. "I'm sure that'll be enlightening."

Peter chuckled beside him and pulled him away from Scott and out the door. Leading him over to the jeep, he opened the driver's door and Stiles gave him a confused look. "I walked. I've spent most of the day walking and thinking. It's..." Peter checked his watch. "Only a few minutes past eight. How late can you stay?"

"Curfew's at eleven and dad's off duty tonight."

"Will you come home with me?"

"Yeah, I thought that was obviously the plan." He slid behind the wheel and started the engine as Peter rounded the front and joined him. As soon as they were down the lane, the radio went from static to 'Moves Like Jagger' and Stiles quickly turned it down. "So, what kind of music do you like?" He didn't need to look over to know that Peter was amused.

"Classic rock from the '70s, actually. My older siblings discovered the Stones when I was in elementary school and expanded from British to American rock but never let me listen to much of anything else at home."

"What's your favorite band?"

"Styx."

Stiles was pretty sure his grandma went to a Styx concert in the late '70s but he really didn't want to highlight the age difference by mentioning it.

'I suppose you like modern music."

"Yeah, but fun stuff. Not the emo stuff Derek drowns himself in."

Peter snorted. "He needs to get laid."

Laughing, Stiles reached over to fiddle with the radio tuner till he found the classic rock station out of Redding. He had no clue what song was playing but Peter seemed to, and it had a good beat. He had appreciation for a wide range of music--just not his dad's country hick stuff--so he could get used to this.

On the fifteen minute drive to the apartment, they discussed music, a safe subject, and when Stiles pulled into the parking lot, Peter directed him to the spot next to his Lexus.

"I have two spots and I registered your jeep with management so you don't have to park in guest parking or on the street."

"Afraid my poor baby doesn't quite measure up to the other cars in the lot."

"I'd offer to buy you another car, but I do know what this one means to you. I know who used to drive it."

The jeep had been his mom's. Sometimes Stiles forgot that Peter had a life in Beacon Hills for a couple decades before the fire. He went to school here. He shopped here and stuff like that and it just wasn't that big a town. At least nominally, people knew each other.

"Did you know my mom?"

"Only in passing." 

Stiles followed him into the building and then into the apartment and, once inside, he felt nervous again. His attitude towards Peter had shifted dramatically since the night before, and it couldn't just be due to the epiphany he'd had with Scott about why he'd asked for the beating to continue and why he'd been turned on. Jamming his hands into his jeans' pockets, he rocked on the balls of his feet as he watched Peter taking off his coat and turning on lights.

"Do you want to talk?"

He blew out a shaky breath and admitted, "I'm not sure what I want. It'd probably be easier to just go to bed." Nearly choking on his breath this time, he slumped down onto the couch and clasped his hands over his trembling knees.

"Simpler maybe." Sitting down next to him and turning towards him, Peter took his hand, the one with the bite, and Stiles' nerves calmed a bit.

"Can you feel all my emotions?"

"When they're obvious. When you project. When we're together, it's almost impossible not to feel you. But, I can teach you how to keep them to yourself, especially from a distance."

"You felt what I was doing last night, didn't you." It wasn't a question because it was the only logical answer--none of the Pack would have betrayed him by calling Peter.

"Yes. I knew where you were. Isaac told Derek you were all going to that club. When I started feeling your arousal, and as it grew, I knew you were with someone. I...lost control.. Derek had to drive me there just to prevent me from tearing into him. Only his presence kept me from shifting and attacking the boy you were with."

Stiles paled and wanted to pull his hand away, but he knew that was the wrong move. "I'm sorry."

Peter was silent for a minute and Stiles began to squirm again, until his hand was squeezed, not in warning, but in a semblance of comfort. He wasn't all that surprised by the next question. "Are you sorry because you hurt me or because you were caught?"

It was a fair question. Last night, his answer would definitely have been the latter, and maybe it still was somewhat true. "Both?"

"I'll take it." But his smile was sad and that made Stiles feel worse.

"I'm sorry I can't be what you want me to be, because I don't hate you, you know. I snark a lot, so do you, by the way, but during the summer, we started getting along pretty well, right?"

Peter nodded contemplatively. "I was hoping it was the beginning of a very slow seduction."

"We'll never know if, in a year and a half or so, it would have worked. I'm mad about that, not at you, at the Hunters, for taking...a lot from me."

"Your first time was horrible for you."

"It couldn't have been great for you, either. To lose control like that..." At the memories, he shuddered slightly. 

Peter acknowledged that truth with another nod and his fingers stroked Stiles'. "Do you understand, though, that we have to make this work? I won't let you go. I can't. And I know how selfish that sounds, but, in my heart, you've been mine since the moment I saw you. My wolf has craved you and now that we have you, we won't let you go. It's possessive and creepy and..."

"Peter, it's okay, "Stiles interrupted, "I'm...I guess making my peace with that. I can't tell you that I'll ever, um, love you, but I do want you. I don't know if it's the bond or something else, but I like the sex. Even last night didn't suck." At his inadvertent word choice, he blushed and dropped his eyes, and Peter shot him a grin. "Yeah, yeah."

"So, you accept the mating?"

"Thought what I did earlier proved that."

"I was surprised and proud that you admitted your wrongdoing before the Pack. Also surprised that Derek even knew what to say in response."

Stiles snorted in amusement. "Yeah, well...I understand why you beat me. I didn't while it was happening or even during what, um, happened afterwards, but I figured it out, and then Lydia made me acknowledge the truth."

"Not surprising."

"No. She knows way more than any of us, probably even more than you. Anyway, I understand how werewolves discipline their mates. I accept it." Eyes down, he didn't see Peter's other hand move to cup his chin and lift his gaze.

"It hurt me to do that, but, I was afraid...I was afraid if I let it go, you would think it okay to try it again, and then, if you did, I'd lose control and..." He actually looked a bit scared. "I never felt such intense anger with Marta. I wasn't ready for it. Our mate bond is different than what I knew before."

"Because I'm human and male. And because it wasn't consensual for either of us." Stiles nodded. "I've been doing a lot of reading."

"I'm not surprised." Peter patted his cheek, then sat back, but didn't release his hand, and Stiles didn't either.

"Also, because I've been fighting the bond and fighting you. Actually, from what I've read, I'm kind of surprised you've been as good to me as you have. I have been a petulant brat."

"But, I should have acknowledged your right to be upset and confused. You're not a werewolf and yet it's so easy to treat you like one, to expect you to understand, to submit and obey."

"I've never been submissive. It's hard, Peter. This new thing inside me, a lot of times I don't like the things it wants me to do, how it's changed me, but I'm trying to accept it."

"And, again, if you were a werewolf, you'd instinctively know your place in the hierarchy of the Pack and our relationship."

"Do you want me to take the bite?"

"Only if you want to. You'd make a magnificent werewolf, but there's also a risk."

"Yeah, knowing me, I'd be the one teenager in Beacon Hills that would die from Derek's bite." Something tickled his memory. "Back in that garage, when you were the Alpha, would the claiming bite have turned me?"

"Yes, and that was so wrong of me. Hales don't claim or turn without consent. We haven't in four generations. My only excuse is that I was still a bit..."

"Psycho?" Stiles grinned at Peter's eye roll, but then he softened. "Yeah, I know, but maybe there was a part of you that was sane enough to ask me instead of just doing it, and then respect my choice when I said 'no'."

"Maybe. I'm glad I resisted because I'm pretty sure you would never have forgiven me. We have enough problems due to how the mating began."

"Not your fault, though, and I've accepted that." Stiles sighed softly. "I guess we're making progress, huh?"

"For a forced mating of less than two weeks, yes."

"I...don't feel forced anymore." Slowly Stiles lifted his eyes to Peter's and saw the wary happiness there. "I know you're the only guy I can ever be with. I can't tell you I still won't get pissed at that and fight it sometimes, but I want to accept it completely. I want...I want this to work." He took a deep breath. "But, we don't really know a lot about each other, not past the surface stuff. We never got a chance to date and now we're basically married, right?" He didn't wait for Peter, just blurted out, "And I'm sixteen and stupid half the time and horny all the time and, before this, I wasn't even sure I liked guys that way." He slumped deeper into the couch, huffing out a breath.

Releasing his hand, Peter slid that arm around Stiles' shoulders and tugged him closer until the young man let his head fall onto his shoulder. "Then we'll get to know each other. We'll date, even though we'll need to be discreet. And I think you've proven you do like guys that way."

Stiles rolled his eyes. At least they had snarkiness in common. Well, they actually had a lot in common, because Peter was right, the last few months they had been growing closer. The closeness might have been partially manipulated by the werewolf currently cuddling him, but Stiles thought he could live with that.

"Can we start all that tomorrow and fuck right now?"

Chuckling, Peter stood, pulling him with him. "Not on my very expensive leather couch."

"But, it's so soft. I could just sink so deep into it and..."

"Get cum all over it, no. Our bed is soft enough," he added as he led Stiles down the hallway.

Something not unhappy clenched in his stomach at the words 'our bed' and Stiles found himself smiling and not-so-surreptitiously adjusting the growing bulge in his jeans. 

When they reached the bed, Peter turned on the lamp, then folded down the bedspread to the foot of the bed, before pulling down the blanket and sheet as well. Stiles found his fussiness oddly amusing and, from Peter's snort, he must have felt it. To keep him from saying something snarky, Stiles kicked off his shoes and peeled off his shirt. Before he could tug his t-shirt over his head, Peter was there, helping him, then kissing him, softly at first, but with growing passion. Stiles' hands went to his back, then untucked his shirt and found skin, pressing along his spine as he kissed back, hungrily.

Arousal flared, making his cock rise, and he rubbed against Peter, feeling a matching hardness push against him. Peter's hands found his ass, cupping him through his jeans and grinding their cloth covered dicks together. Both panting for air, they broke the kiss, then Peter's mouth found Stiles' throat and began to suck bruises on his pale skin.

Moaning in pleasure, Stiles rocked into him until Peter swung him around and onto the bed. Stiles fell backwards, splayed out, hard, and panting, and pressed the heel of his hand to his cock, hips lifting as he caressed himself. His bruised ass ached but his need beat out any pain. Glancing up he saw Peter's eyes gleaming blue, the pupils inky black and huge, and watched as he stripped off his clothes. His cock was hard, curved up against his stomach, the tip wet already, but he didn't touch himself.

"Take yourself out," he growled sensually, "Stroke yourself."

Eagerly Stiles fumbled with his belt and jeans, finally getting them open and pulling his boxer briefs down over his cock so it popped free. He was leaking pre-cum as well and used it as lube as he jacked himself, his eyes never leaving Peter's face. The open, needy expression there made him ache, and he arched his hips, driving his cock into his fist. After a few minutes, he pulled his hand free and up to his mouth, wetly licking his palm, before returning to tug on his cock several more times. The elastic of his shorts pressed into his balls, making them throb and he drew up his knees and pumped harder.

"I'm...I'm going to come, Peter. Shit!"

"Do it."

That command sent a frisson of lust through him and he gritted his teeth and moaned deep and loud as he started to come all over his chest.

As Stiles fell back, whimpering and babbling, his fingers massaging out the final drops of cum, Peter pounced, crouching over him and ducking his head to lick at the mess. Amazed that he wanted to do that, Stiles watched lazily, his clean hand drifting to Peter's head, fingers rubbing through his soft hair.

"You taste good."

"Guess it's an acquired taste because, kind of bitter to me."

Peter grinned wolfishly--and how that expression fit the man--and mock bit his stomach, making him squirm and grunt. Moving up over Stiles, he found his mouth and they kissed, all tongues and teeth and Peter's need.

"Um, you want me to, y'know?"

That earned him an amused look and raised eyebrows. "Usually you can't stop talking, but this embarrasses you?"

"You want me to suck you off, or not?"

Peter chuckled and moved off him long enough to grab the bottle of lube from the night stand. "No. Though I did enjoy that very much last night. I was surprised you swallowed."

Stiles could feel himself turning beet red again and, for the millionth time in his life, cursed his fair skin. "You did it to me. Actually, no, you kissed me with a mouth full of my cum and made me swallow some of it."

"And...?"

Sighing, he wriggled a bit so that his head was on a pillow. "Okay, it was interesting."

"I enjoy cum play."

"Yeah, kind of guessed it with the rubbing it on me and licking it from me."

"And what do you like?" With that question, he started stripping Stiles of his remaining clothes.

"Dude, I'm a teenager who's never done anything. It's feasible I like everything." He toed off one sock and Peter pulled off the other, leaving them both naked. 

"How limber are you?"

Grinning, Stiles grabbed his knees and rolled his hips up as he spread his legs, bringing his knees almost to his shoulders and making Peter smirk. "I'm surprised you can sit." His fingers caressed the dark red and purple bruises, making Stiles moan. Arousal and orgasm had pretty much made him forget the soreness spread across his ass.

"Wasn't that the point?" he gasped out as Peter pressed against one particularly tender spot.

Instead of answering, the older man leaned down and licked his tongue along one welt and Stiles shuddered. "Oh, fuck, Jesus."

"You took the belt so well." Another kiss was pressed to his asshole and Stiles squirmed. "The discipline so well. I'm proud of you." His tongue flicked out and pushed past the tight muscle.

"Yeah, okay, right, great, fuck me!" 

Chuckling, Peter popped open the lube and poured some onto his fingers. Placing his other hand on the back of Stiles' thigh for support, he slid one lubed finger into his ass.

"Oh, Jesus!" Dick twitching already, Stiles watched in fascination as one, then two fingers pumped into him, stretching him open. "We...we going to do it this way? On my back?"

"It feels different. I think you'll enjoy it." The fingers pressed against his prostate and Stiles thrust his hips up. 

"Yeah," he panted. "Okay. Shit." 

As a third finger pushed into him, making him ache with both pleasure and a bit of discomfort, Peter distracted him by leaning forward and placing hot, moist kisses along the back of his thigh and knee.

Stiles twitched and his cock hardened even more. New erogenous zone, huh.

Teeth scraped there, just a hint of fang, and he groaned and watched the fingers moving in him, his cock swelling and Peter's bobbing against his stomach, just waiting.

But, he was young and impatient. "Okay, okay, do it now. Fuck, do it now. I wanna see you fucking me."

Grinning, Peter lifted back up and poured more lube onto his hand, this time to slick his cock. "I like how vocal you are, how demanding." Pulling his fingers free, he took a hold of Stiles' thighs and pressed into him.

It felt amazing. Stiles flung his head back and panted for air, and his cock ached along with his ass, but it was all amazing. Fully seated inside him, Peter folded himself over Stiles and kissed him deeply, before lifting back up and beginning to thrust, which smacked his pelvis against the bruises and that hurt, but, oh fuck, it was a good hurt.

His own cock rested heavy and hard against his stomach, but he lifted his head to see past it, to see Peter's dick disappearing into his ass. He could see how stretched he was around it, see the man's balls smacking against him, and it was better than porn.

It sure to fuck felt better than his own hand. His dick was leaking and throbbing and no one was even touching it, but every third or fourth thrust of Peter's found that spot inside him which sent shivers up his spine and made his balls tighten. He found himself thrusting down to meet Peter, driving him as deep as he could go, and he wondered if he could come from fucking alone.

"So tight, so good," Peter crooned. "Wrap your legs around me?"

Obeying eagerly, Stiles was amazed by how the change in angle made Peter go deeper and rub in different ways, and when he lowered himself to brace his hands on either side of Stiles and kiss him breathlessly, Stiles cried out and dug his fingers into Peter's shoulders. They kissed and panted and thrust for several minutes and then Peter slowed his movements and pushed back up onto his knees. Sliding his hands beneath Stiles, he pulled him onto his lap.

At the jolt of shocking pleasure, Stiles grunted loudly and grabbed his cock because he really needed to come again. "Don't...stop," he panted as he stroked himself.

Peter began a series of short, shallow thrusts, then with a dark groan, drove deep.

Spasming in pleasure, Stiles arched his back to take all of the wolf's cock. His own dick throbbed and pulsed against his palm and he yanked on it harder and harder. It was slippery with pre-cum and sweat and there was just the right amount of friction. "Gonna come again...fuck!" Grimacing, he threw his head back, dug his heels into Peter, and spilled all over his chest, some of the cum even splattering his chin and lips.

Grinning in delight, Peter dove down and licked at his mouth, then down his chin to his throat, as his hips thrust harder and faster.

Trembling from his release, Stiles lazily ran his hands over Peter's back, then down to his ass to squeeze taut muscles. "Come on, dude. Come on," he rasped out, undulating his hips and rubbing his overstimulated dick along their stomachs and into the cum drying there.

"Stiles..." Peter's voice degenerated into a growl. Stiles watched his eyes flash the wolf's vibrant blue and his fangs bite into his lip, and then, with a hard shudder, Peter came. Feeling it pulsing inside him, Stiles quivered in pleasure, then smirked as the wolf pulled out and finished coming all over his hole and balls.

He let his legs fall spread wide to the bed, and Peter sank down and lapped up his own cum. Relaxed and feeling really, really good, Stiles ran his fingers through the other man's hair, moaning softly as his tongue flicked against his tender, swollen asshole. "I used to call you perverted, Peter. Shit, I had no idea."

"Do you mind?"

"Fuck no."

They grinned at each other, then Peter crawled up to the pillows and rolled Stiles half onto his chest.

"What a surprise. A cuddly wolf," Stiles yawned but, while pleasantly tired, he didn't really want to sleep. He felt Peter's lips brush over his sweaty forehead. "Hey, is shower sex as good as it sounds?"

A chuckle rumbled beneath his cheek. "We can find out in awhile. You may be young, but you do need to recover a bit."

"And how fast is your refractory time? I never could get Scott to tell me. He'd just get all red and run away."

Peter snorted in amusement. "It's true, there are benefits to being a werewolf. Even at my advanced age, I can get it up again in an hour or so. Less, if I'm properly motivated."

Grinning lazily, Stiles flicked his tongue over Peter's nipple, making him twitch and moan softly. "Speaking of...just how old are you?"

"Thirty seven."

"Oh."

"Does that bother you?"

Stiles shrugged. "I know werewolves age slower than humans because of the regenerative abilities and, if you aren't killed, can live, what into your hundred and thirties or so?" Peter murmured an affirmative. "Anyway, you're still ripped and gorgeous. Eventually the age difference isn't going to matter." But, it would matter to his dad, and he had no clue how he was going to tell him about all this. It would have to come out someday, all of it.

"You're thinking of your father," Peter said softly.

"Yeah. I could tell him now and have him go ballistic over my being underage and the age difference, the...forced sex and mating, or I could wait until I'm legal and then I'll have lied to him for over another year." He sighed. "I dunno."

"Maybe you should start with the whole issue of werewolves, but this doesn't need to be decided tonight and, as Alpha, Derek should be in on this discussion and have input into the decision."

"Soon though."

Nodding, Peter reached for the hand stretched across his chest and caressed the bite marks that were now just red scars. Stiles hadn't worn the band to the pack meeting and his skin was so sensitive there, especially when Peter touched it. Shivers went down his spine, sparking a memory. "I read that human mates can bite their werewolf mates back. It strengthens the bond, right?"

"Yes."

"Two werewolves usually do it at the same time, but it doesn't have to be." At Peter's nod, Stiles continued, "So, a human could do it later, too, right?"

"Yes, but, Stiles, that is entirely up to you. I will not force that on you. It's a choice every mate makes on their own." As he spoke, he rolled their wrists, revealing two white scars on his own, marks Stiles had never noticed before.

His previous mating bite.

"Why don't they fade?"

"They just don't." There was sorrow in his voice and Stiles curled closer, entwining their fingers. 

He wasn't ready to bite Peter. There was still way too much to talk about, way too many emotions all tangled up. They weren't living together, they still barely knew each other. 

But...it was an option, depending on if they made the relationship work.

"I can feel you're sad." It was the first time he'd reached out purposefully to feel Peter's emotions.

"You're opening your senses to me," Peter replied, a bit of surprise coloring his voice. 

"Yeah, it's kind of cool."

"I like it."

Lifting his head, Stiles smiled slightly and brushed his lips over Peter's. "I'm sticky and leaking. Can we shower now? And have more sex and then shower again?"

Laughing, Peter dragged him into a hungry kiss. "No, I certainly am never going to be bored by you."

"Yeah, now I'm thinking that's a good thing," Stiles snarked back, laughing as well, then squealing as Peter jumped off the bed, hauling him with him and up over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. "I can walk!"

"Indulge me," came a low growl as a hand caressed his sore ass sending sparks of pain and pleasure through him.

Going limp, Stiles moaned and wondered if he really could come again so soon. His dick was showing some real interest pressed against his mate's shoulder.

His...mate.

Even in his own mind, he'd never referred to Peter that way. On his feet again, leaning back against the bathroom counter and watching the wolf turn on the water in the large, stone tiled, decadent shower, Stiles realized he was okay with that.

The feeling might not last. He wasn't completely settled in the truth of this relationship and he was too stubborn not to fight it occasionally, but, for now...For now...

Knowing what he was feeling, Peter smirked at him and beckoned him into the dual headed shower. "Let's get you all slippery."

Stretching languidly, totally unconcerned with his nudity even though his body in no way stacked up to Peter's--because Peter either didn't care or thought it did--Stiles ambled over and joined his mate beneath the hot spray.

Yeah, this was okay.

 

*****

**On The Evening Of Stiles' Eighteenth Birthday**

Peter was waiting for him as he stumbled into the apartment, sloppy grin on his face, reeking of illicit booze and arousal. 

"I just got drunk," Stiles slurred, swaying in the entryway and trying to focus on Peter who stood there, arms across his chest, stern look on his face. "No making out with cute guys."

"You told me that if I let you go out with your friends, you'd be home by ten. It's almost eleven-thirty."

"Coulda come and dragged me away." He grinned and fell against Peter who grunted and propped him up. "I was bad, bad, really bad. I think you should spank me."

"I think you're going to have a horrible hangover in the morning."

"Aching ass, aching head, both ends a'hurting," Stiles sang as Peter half led, half carried him to their bedroom. "Come on, wolfie, gimme a birthday spanking."

When Peter flipped on the overhead light, it illuminated the belt draped across the bed and Stiles shivered in anticipation because they'd both obviously planned this without the other knowing, just hoping. "Do you want me to restrain you?" the wolf growled into his ear, the sound and the question making Stiles' cock press painfully against the zipper of his tight jeans.

"No, I'll be good."

"You've already been bad."

"Then I deserve to be disciplined," Stiles managed to get out before Peter spun him around and bent him over the bed, one hand on his neck, the other reaching for the fastening of his jeans. "Oh, yeah..."

"Stiles, I will gag you."

"Promise?"

Even drunk and dizzy and horny, he could tell when Peter was amused. He could feel it through the bond, but there was a need to punish as well and that's what Stiles wanted.

Sometimes he liked to walk that fine line and surrender control to his mate. As his jeans and boxers slid down to his knees, he arched his ass into the air, holding onto the bedspread for leverage and smiling loosely up at Peter. "Eighteen plus one to grow on."

"You won't be able to sit tomorrow."

He gave him a cheeky grin and reiterated, "Promise?"

Peter picked up the belt and doubled it, which sent a new shiver of desire and need through Stiles. Oh yeah, this was going to hurt.

And then his mate would soothe his pain before fucking his ass all night long.

What a way to celebrate a birthday.

"Count," Peter growled, and lashed the thick leather down,

Stiles yelped and bucked and deliriously cried out, "One," and really hoped he didn't come yet. He wanted Peter balls deep and smacking his sore ass as he fucked him before he found the release he truly needed.

By the ninth blow, when Peter switched sides, his ass was on fire, tears were streaming down his cheeks, and he was hanging onto the bedding for dear life. He choked out, "nine", then moaned as his mate's fingers lightly patted a particularly sore spot.

"I think you're enjoying this a bit too much." But, there was a teasing quality to Peter's otherwise stern voice, and Stiles grinned up at him.

"Can't help it. You give me what I need." He smashed his face back down into the mattress and mumbled, "You always give me what I need." 

The wolf growled in pleasure and the tenth lash of the belt elicited a howl from Stiles as he nearly came.

"Count, Stiles," Peter chided.

"Te--ten," he stammered. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, Peter!"

"If you come, I'll be very displeased. We haven't had to use the cock cage for several months..."

Shit, no, he didn't want that. Sometimes, yeah, sometimes having all his control taken from him was a good thing, but tonight he wanted to come when he was ready. Breathing harshly through his nose, he reached beneath himself and grabbed the base of his cock.

Which arched his hips up for the next blow. 

"Cheater."

"Eleven!"

Peter chuckled and hit him again.

By the eighteenth, Stiles was writhing with each blow, cursing under his breath and squeezing his dick hard as it leaked all over his hand and stomach. He moaned the number and waited for the one to grow on, but it didn't come. Slowly, confused, Stiles craned his head back to see Peter stroking the doubled belt as he contemplated his mate's bruised ass.

"Peter?"

He dropped the belt, then dropped to his knees, his hands cupping Stiles' ass cheeks and pulling them apart. Stiles whimpered in pain, then gasped in surprise as the older man's tongue lashed across his asshole.

"How about I rim you to grow on."

"...'k," Stiles moaned in a delirious combination of pain, pleasure and lust. He felt Peter grin against his sore ass, then his tongue licked out again and Stiles bucked. The fingers tightened, sending bursts of pain through him, but his cock just throbbed in his hand. "I...I need to come."

"The punishment is over, love. Come whenever you want." He thrust his tongue into Stiles' hole, fucking him with it for several minutes, making him wet and spreading him open, until the younger man cried out and shook from head to foot. Arching his hips off the bed and releasing his dick, Stiles thrust hard into the mussed sheets and spilled all over them with a loud cry.

As he lay there moaning and panting, he saw Peter open the drawer of the nightstand and remove a bottle of lube. Rising on shaky legs and dropping his trousers and underwear to his ankles, Peter quickly slicked his hard cock as Stiles watched, drooling a bit in anticipation. He was relaxed and warm, but knew he could get it up again.

After all he was still a teenager.

Their bed was just the right height, though Peter rarely fucked him this way. It was an oddly submissive pose for Stiles, whereas being on his knees or his back or even standing shoved against a wall weren't. He'd been disciplined in this position and now would be fucked.

A shiver of lust ran through him and he arched his back again, sticking his ass as high as he could.

Peter's hands grabbed his sore hips and with one thrust he was buried to the balls.

Stiles groaned, a long, deep sound of need, and pushed back as best he could.

"No, stay still," Peter grunted, one hand moving to his shoulder to hold him down. 

"Just...just going to fuck me?" 

"Yes."

Another shiver of lust and his dick started to harden again. Peter pulled back and thrust again, driving Stiles forward a bit, rubbing his cock in the wet spot on the sheet, and he grinned in delight. 

"Yeah, okay. Yeah, just...fuck, Peter!" The next thrust had hit his prostate and his balls tightened and his cock ached. Peter began a fast pace, his hips smacking Stiles' sore ass, making him hiss and groan, but the pleasure far outweighed the pain.

And Peter was holding him down and he really loved that. All he could do was arch his hips and hold on and get fucked.

After a few minutes, as his mate began to grunt and growl louder and louder, Stiles reached beneath himself and started pulling on his cock. As he did so, Peter leaned forward a bit, and grabbed him around the chest, pulling him up and using his strength to hold him there. His cock pounded into him, the new angle making him hit the prostate almost every time, and Stiles jerked himself, moaning and shaking with lust. 

"God, Peter!"

"Still so tight," Peter growled. "How are you still so tight?"

"Gonna...gonna come again." Stiles' head started to swim and he reached back to grab Peter's hip to steady himself, his other hand speeding up, using cum and sweat for friction and it was just perfect. "Kiss me, please, fuck, Peter, kiss..." 

Peter's hungry mouth covering his interrupted his pleading. The position made the kiss awkward, it was sloppy.

And it was perfect.

Moaning into his mate's mouth, Stiles came again. As he shook from his release, he felt Peter pull out of him, and let him manhandle him down onto his back. He hissed when his ass hit the mattress, but spread his legs. Peter pushed into him again, thrusting quickly as he growled Stiles' name over and over, then he pulled out and jerked his release onto the mess on the younger man's stomach.

Knowing what was coming, Stiles grinned sloppily and watched from hooded eyes as Peter crouched over him and lapped up their mingled cum.

"Perv," he teased.

Lips smeared with semen, Peter smirked up at him, then crawled up his body and kissed him with tender passion.

Stiles licked both their lips clean.

A few minutes, later, curled together on the dry side of the bed, Stiles groaned softly as Peter lightly caressed his ass. "You know the Pack will tease you tomorrow."

"Don't care." Stiles yawned and hugged Peter closer, resting his tired head on his shoulder. "Worth it."

"Happy birthday, Stiles. I love you," Peter murmured into his ear as Stiles' eyes drifted shut.

"Um...me, too, love you."

Beneath his cheek, Peter's heart stuttered and Stiles smiled tenderly. Peter had been saying it for months. Stiles never had.

But, he meant it. A shared birthday present with his mate.

The man--the wolf--he loved.

*****

Next morning, head aching, eyes bleary, ass tender, morning wood drained by a blow job, Stiles crouched over Peter who smirked lazily up at him. Yeah, he'd get to that reciprocal blow job, but, first...

He placed a soft kiss on his mate's lips, then took his hand and lifted it to his own lips. Nuzzling against the soft skin of the unmarked wrist, Stiles bit.

End

**Author's Note:**

> Assume that some time between the shower scene and the epilogue Stiles' dad learned the whole story (gradually).


End file.
